


Future Shocks

by chrisdenvl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 42
Words: 179,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisdenvl/pseuds/chrisdenvl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on fanfiction.net</p>
<p>Lord Voldemort had attacked the Muggle world. The slaughter to come was beyond anyone's imagining. Now, the wizards are forced to make their last stand in Scotland. </p>
<p>Moments before the nuclear bomb strikes, Hermione Granger uses a portkey. </p>
<p>Little does she know that she'll be flung across not space, but time. </p>
<p>Now, she can reverse it all. Or not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghost Riders in the Sky

They were coming. She could almost feel the steady rhythm of marching feet, low grumbling of tanks and the growling of engines. She was perched on a rocky cliff and staring at the sea. Probably these were the last moments of tranquility, probably, the last moments of her life as well; since they heard the rumors about Ireland, nothing made sense anymore.

She watched the water dance with the light; it was dusk and the sea looked read as the sun slowly sunk on the other side of the world. When she was little, she used to believe that the golden patch of light on the water, was actually a road that - if one managed to be quick enough before the sun disappeared - led to a world full of magic.

And then, when magic came real in her life, she believed that the patch of golden was a road that let to the other side.

She was about to die and she feared no more.

What was left of their world, was now waiting in nervous silence for the battle to commence. Four years ago Lord Voldemort attacked the Muggle world. Four years ago the Battle of Hogwarts became suddenly the Invasion of Hogwarts, the Slaughter of Hogwarts; the moment when tanks rolled on the grounds during the battle between Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix, their world came tumbling down. Lord Voldemort, the bane of Muggles, was not defeated by Harry Potter. Nor by any wizard.

Lord Voldemort took some stray bullet to the head.

Upon seeing that, the Death Eaters, whoever remained alive that is, fled. And so they fled; the youngest students were caught, majority of teachers perished, trying to save their pupils.

Muggle technology enabled tracing. Wizards were hunted for, magical children aborted from their mothers' wombs and whoever was captured, would serve as a test subject. Soon the communication lines between wizards of different continents had been cut off. European and English wizards decided to rally.

Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age and a terrible bookworm with nearly no friends, was now someone else. She became Hermione the leader.

As Harry had been the beacon of light for his era, in the Muggle Wars time it was Hermione, who was looked upon with respect and hope.

That night she had gathered all her captains; Harry with a gaunt face, Draco Malfoy who was still mourning his wife's death, Fleur Delacour who led the French, Birkart von Gallen who was German, and a Spaniard, Camilla Gaupaloz and others, lieutenants and soldiers - she even asked those, who would not and could not fight to come. They gathered in a cave; she realized then how ridiculous the whole thing was. The Wizarding world, ever so proud, was now reduced to few hundred men fighting for their lives. She told them truth.

They would not survive. They could try and flee or fight. Go out in an outburst of fire.

And they were tired, tired of running, of seeing their loved ones perish, of the fear and the loss and the pain, so they all agreed to fight. Then, by dawn, they heard news of Ireland; the news manifested itself in a rumble of a distant explosion and a white mushroom in the sky. The nuclear bomb hit Ireland. They would be next.

That was reason why Muggle units were smaller now, why there were no civilians anymore. The governments had decided to take drastic steps. Probably because England was already destroyed; casualties on both side were tremendous, economy in shambles and the Queen had died in a suicide attack led by some maddened remaining Death Eaters. As far as Hermione guessed, the nuclear attack was ordered by either the Americans or the Russians. England had become more of a place on the map than a real country; it was insignificant. The ground troops were only English, probably not aware of the incoming attack. They would become a collateral damage, the price that pawns pay while kings play their games of war.

And knowing this, they became desperate and merciless. They would die because of the Wizards and they didn't want to die, so their fury was unstoppable.

She sighed and turned around; someone was approaching her. It was Harry, dressed in a military uniform he must have taken off some soldier.

'I think it's time.' he said, his voice was hollow, his eyes bloodshot. He never shaved anymore, at least non since Ron. She swallowed at the thought.

'Yeah?' she asked, feeling oddly fazed.

'Blimey. It's so gorgeous.' he nodded towards the dying sun. 'It's like our war was nothing.'

'It's easier like that.' she said after a while 'I mean, it's easier to die when you know the world won't end at that moment. It'll prevail.'

'Yes. But then, no one will get to see that.' his voice was so sad as he sat beside her on the rock. 'How did it come to that, Hermione?'

She swallowed once again, but her throat felt dry and she was immensely sad. Dying did not frighten her, not anymore. She was simply sorry to go.

'We were too proud?' she spoke in a small voice 'Taking it all for granted and... so on?'

'Voldemort. The idiot.' he said with gritted teeth 'He was the idiot, the ultimate idiot of the universe. I used to fear him, Hermione. Now I just hate him. Not for myself, though.'

'It doesn't make sense. To hate the dead.' she answered truthfully 'I don't hate him. Like I don't hate them. Both sides went overboard.'

'Hermione! Harry!' a female voice cried from a distance. They turned around.

'I think it's time.' he said, probably having forgotten he already uttered those words.

They stood up and at that precise moment, tanks have fired into the hill. They threw themselves over the ground, covering their heads with their hands.

'Le's go!' she yelled. They got up and run towards the hill, the air was dense with smoke and debris. Someone screamed.

'Protego' they drew their wands; it was of no use really, but merely out of a habit. The magical shields never worked for Muggle artilery; they learned that the hard way. Machine guns were now drilling into the hill. They run towards the entrance, covered by Draco and his men, who were lying in the grass with their AK-47. She smiled at the irony of the proud pure-blood boy, who was now fighting back with Muggle weapons.

'We need to get the children out.' Fleur's voice came from her right. The French witch was also armed with a gun, her wand tuck away somewhere in her uniform. They were hiding behind massive boulders beside the entrance to the cave. Most of the adults were already out and perched on their stations. They had dug trenches and covered the area with barbed wire. During a mad raid at a Muggle military station, Hermione's unit managed to steal some mines, now they planted them around the hill, making sure the enemy would not get closer.

'Fire!' Harry screamed at her left, his unit momentarily began shooting towards the tanks.

'Get Birkart.' she ordered one of her sergeants 'Get Birkart, tell him to use the bazookas. We need the tanks out.'

'He's dead.' Viktor Krum answered. He was his first lieutenant. 'Took a bullet to the chest.'

Tanks were rolling in, ever closer. Now they could see them quite clearly. Military units were advancing behind them, taking cover from their fire.

She watched Krum sprint back inside the cave; the people and the weaponry were now stashed together.

'We need to get the children out, Hermione.' Fleur repeated 'The cave's not going to hold.'

'What?'

'It's collapsing.' the French witch answered slightly hysterically 'Caving in.'

'Shit.' she spat. Another round of heavy fire came from the enemy, forcing them to lie down behind the boulders. Debris was flying in the air; a piece of rock cut across her left cheek; at first the felt nothing, the pain kicked in later.

'Fuck!' Harry grabbed her and pushed her further down, on her back. His wand touched her face 'You're bleeding real bad.' He muttered the healing spell and she felt the pain lessen.

'Where are the bazookas?' she mumbled.

He shook his head and tried to say something but then a tank rolled into a mine and exploded; the blast was loud and piercing; all they could hear now was a strange ringing in their ears. She watched his mouth but could not make sense of his words.

'...lost.' he finished.

'What?' she blinked and swallowed and the world returned again. The air was dense with smoke, she could smell the stench of burning bodies and ammunition.

'I said it's probably lost.' he repeated. 'Fire, fire!' he yelled towards his men and they fired back at the enemy. Some soldiers fell down. 'Fire!' he screamed almost on top of his lungs. She pushed him off and crouched behind the boulder. All she could see were the tanks, very close now. Her men were hiding in trenches around the hill and on the hill, firing back with all their might. She remembered then about the children and shook her head.

It was no point, they would die either way.

'Fleur!' she yelled at the French witch who was visibly torn between getting back to the cave and fighting. 'Hold the cave. Take some of your men and stabilize it with magic. Go!'

The French witch nodded, her blond her now cut short and matted in blood. When she lost Bill and their children, she broke apart. All she could do was sit in a corner and stare blankly at space, not seeing anything. But then she snapped, where she was soft and weak, she now became tough and cruel. A captain who was feared by her own men.

She watch her run towards her sergeant, a bald man known as The Rook, who was holding a Kalashnikov and firing viciously at foot soldiers. Soon a team of six people made their way at nearly insane pace towards the entrance. Harry had crawled away towards Malfoy and yelled something at him. She saw the blond man shake his head. Then she realized that his unit was far to close to the enemy. Soon they would be cut off from the rest of them.

They were stuck like this for hours. The terrain made it impossible for the tanks to advance any further. While Krum assembled the bazookas unit, Malfoy's squad was blocking the advance. It was a deadly move; soon they were wiped out. She watched Draco die and she felt a faint shiver of pride at the blond man. Soon most of the tanks were out and soldiers were advancing by foot. They held the higher ground though, and the enemy's loses were growing rapidly. She managed to cast a weakened fiendyfire at them; due to the EMP signals the enemy had been emitting for a long time, magical attacks were nearly usless, the the EMP successfully blocking any spellcasting.

When the Muggle scientists had discovered this, the situation for Wizards changed from bad to awful. In a short period of time they had to re-specialize themselves and learn Muggle ways of combat. Many people had surrendered by the time. Some committed suicides. Most, however, grew furious and ferocious. Stripped of their magic, Wizards became almost humble. And desperately courageous.

The most efficient soldiers, however, were Death Eaters. She had watched them; they begged for redemption and they fought without fear of death, trying to cleanse themselves of their previous sins with every action they undertook.

The battle raged for the entire night. Nobody was successful, sometimes the enemy pushed forwards, sometimes did they. By dawn the next day, the situation resembled a pat in chess game; nobody was able to advance and nobody decided to back down. Hermione Granger climbed to the top of the hill and lied beside Viktor Krum.

'Her-mione.' he greeted her hoarsely 'We vill not vin this fight.'

'No.' she smiled at him. His face was also gaunt and unshaven, filthy with blood, sweat and dust.

'No.' he repeated 'How is the situation down?'

'Fleur's unit are protecting the cave, they've put some shielding charms and are switching when they get to tired. Harry's in charge of the trenches since Draco. And Birkert's in charge of the entrance. We've lost Camilla's men. They were too far from the hill.'

'We should get the children out. Soon they vill do Ireland on us, I think.'

'How? I can't make a portkey, nobody can anymore.'

'Maybe try. Not all for all of us, maybe some children will escape.'

She sighed. The portkey communication had been disabled for almost a year. Apparation had been as well for a couple of months. The EMP singals were disturbing any kind of magical communication. She scratched her head.

'I'll try. And Krum?'

'Commander?' he smiled at her.

'Hold it. Hold it until the end.'

'Ya. That is the plan.'

They both knew they were probably saying their goodbyes. She slid off the top and walked down the hill and into the cave.

It was dusty and smokey and people were coughing. Remaining healers were trying to help as many wounded as possible, using both Muggle and magicial means. Deep down the hill was the main chamber of the cave; that was where the children were hiding. Fleur's men were standing in the corners, their wands drawn and pointing at the ceiling, keeping the cave from caving in.

She picked a pebble off the ground and tried to perform the spell. She could feel some magical energy buzzing around it, but it was by far too weak to transform the pebble into a portkey. She decided she would try again and walked out of the cave. The enemy units were advancing once again and both sides were firing at each other. She paid it no heed. She lied behind the boulders and once again tried to do the spell. This time it was slightly stronger. She sighed angrily, not being to perform a spell had always been her greatest fear, no matter the cause. And so she kept trying, even though deep down she knew it would never work.

She felt it - a white hot explosion on her body; a pain exploding in her side and she dropped the pebble and pressed her hand, her face burying in the ground. She tried to inhale, but the pain grew sharper, so she rolled to her side and when she raised the hand, she saw it was covered with blood and she knew right this moment that she had been shot.

'Fuck.' she mumbled and felt her mouth bloody. She rolled on her back, defiant eyes staring at the cloudless sky of a summer's early morning and she thought it had to be June. She was dying, all the heat escaping her body, the pain somewhat less pronounced than before and she thought it was not that bad. Her fingers, scratching the earth found what she had lost, the pebble, and with last effort she lifted it off the grass, picked it up and with second hand she grabbed her wand, both hands lifted and shaking above her. She repeated this spell, trying to pour all her willpower and life into the incantation and she felt warmth spreading from the tips of her fingers and onto the wand and realized it had worked. The portkey to unknown destination, with minutes to become a gateway towards life. She tried to yell at someone, tried to tell them to take it from her and run to the children, but all she could do, was move her lips and swallow the blood.

And then she saw It. Beautiful like a comet. The nuclear missile in the air, death incarnate and full of light and wonder, drawing nearer and nearer from across the sea. She smiled at it, because truly, it was a wonder of wonders.

How could death look so angelic, so lovely and so majestic?

Her thoughts had calmed now, she was no more erratic, she was about to face her Maker and she felt like she had done all she could to prevent this and felt like she had lost but lost having tried with all her might before.

Two things happened. The missile struck somewhere into the body of England, probably hundreds of kilometers away from the place she was lying and dying in the grass. And the portkey activated. In the rumble of explosion, in a blinding light and fire, she was pulled by its magic into the unknown.


	2. The Claiming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all typos are mine - i have no beta and i type faster than i think (sometimes)

The raid had been successful, Draco Malfoy thought with mixed feelings. At first it was easy to despise them and stare at them with disgust and wish them the worst. Now however, sitting by a table in a room full of Death Eaters, with on of them beaten and suspended in the air while the Dark Lord discussed his next moves with them, he felt trepidation build within his body.

Charity Burbage was, after all, his teacher. Maybe he did not attend Muggle Studies, maybe he considered her ugly and her subject idiotic, but still, she taught at Howgwarts. And that made her his teacher, whether he liked that or not. And now she was about to die. He swallowed, feeling a lump in his throat and looked around the room, trying the guess their thoughts. He was seated beside his family; this was something he was used to, yet even though the chamber was familiar, the dark massive table and tall ceiling, even though his parents were beside him, he felt off, out of place. It was maybe because of his father, who looked like a man who saw a ghost, pale face and sunken cheeks, eyes that shimmered with fear and his voice, ever so smooth, was now quavering and weak. It was maybe because of his mother, who - after Dumbledore - would sometimes send him a strange look, a mixture of great sorrow and anxiety. Or maybe it was because of his aunt, mad, demented and always lusting for blood, with unruly hair and insane, charcoal black eyes, who would snap and pout and cackle and kill and maim and - oh.

It was maybe because of the Dark Lord. Tall and noseless, with slits for his eyes, bald head and the lack of lips. His low, malicious voice and presence so intense, he was drawing all attention and all life of the room.

Sometimes he would find himself cursing inwardly at the blasted tattoo engraved into his right forearm, the cursed Mark that bid him eternally to that man who no more resembled a human being. And then, of course, his fear would override his anger and he would bite his lower lip, forcing himself into self-imposed calmness. His father had dragged him into this mess; his father had deemed him worthy and so Draco would, eventually, prove his worth. Even if the price would be his soul.

Every time, though, his eyes fell on Bellatrix Lestrange, he would shudder. If the Dark Lord was the monster that threw them all into immense darkness, she was the living proof of the price one had to pay for this service. And as much as she frightened him, he could not help but find her disgusting.

Even though she was still very good looking.

The Dark Lord began to walk around the room and that movement snapped him back into attention. The man was saying something about a need of a new wand, as his would not - for some unknown reason - work for him. He felt himself shrink when the man got closer, his presence so ominous, he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He licked his lips almost unconsciously.

'Lucius' the monster spoke out, coming to halt behind his father.

'My lord.' when he heard the faint and quavering voice of his father, he felt two things and hated them instantly: disgust and relief. Disgust at his father's apparent weakness and relief that it was not his wand that had been required.

'My lord?' the Dark Lord teased mercilessly 'I require your wand, Lucius.'

And so he had to watch his father pull out his wand - the one he was always jealous of, the one with a handle which resembled a rapier's.

'Do I detect elm?' the Dark Lord's hand was sliding gently along the wand, his head slightly cocked, his eyes focused.

'Yes, my lord.' his father stuttered at the words.

'And the core?'

'Dragon' his father's voice broke and he spoke out again, this time only a little stronger 'Dragon heartstring.'

The wand snapped and his father shivered, when the Dark Lord snapped the handle away. He was about to say something, disgust etched on his snake-like face, his gaze fixed at Lucius Malfoy, but then he turned round, gestured with the wand and Charity Burbage's body levitated closer towards the middle of the table.

'To those of you who do not know we are joined tonight by miss Charity Burbage, who until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy.' the Dark Lord strode back towards his seat, his voice mock explanatory. 'Her specialty was Muggle Studies'.

At that remark a faint laughter run along the chamber. Draco found himself staring at his fellow Death Eaters once again and shuddered with distress at their cruel smirks.

'It is miss Burbage's belief that Muggles are not so different from us.' the Dark Lord added, anger somehow manifesting itself beneath his cold demeanor. 'She would, given her way, have us mate with them.'

Bellatrix Lestrange made a gurgling sound of disgust, her tongue out, and the Death Eaters one again burst out with cruel laughter.

'To her the mixture of Muggle and magical blood is not an abomination' now fury started to show on his face, as his thin lips curled with contempt 'but something to be encouraged.' he sat down on his chair.

Charity Burbage's eyes stared at the room, begging anyone who would care, to step up. And then her eyes found Snape, she opened her lips and stammered with desperation.

'Se-Severus. Severus please.' the her voice broke 'We're friends.'

He knew what was to come, tearing his eyes from her, he stared at his former Potion Master who now held the chair of Headmaster of Hogwards, and saw his impassive face; black eyes were looking at the woman, they were as bottomless as cold. He felt it, coiling inside him as if he had swallowed a snake, the burning and ever-growing despair.

He found himself pitying the woman and braced himself for what was to come.

But whatever was coming, never happened as suddenly there was a sound of explosion and white light cracked at the ceiling. Something fell down, straight onto Burbage, crashing the levitation charm, sending the two of them with a deep thud. The light was gone within seconds and Draco saw a body lying on Burbage, there was something familiar with it. The body moved, it was a woman and she lifted her head, he saw he hair and realized he had seen it before.

What used to be bushy and unruly, a tangled mane of brown hair, was now slightly darker in color, reddish in the light, as if carrying hints of chestnut, chestnut mixed with red wine and blood, and the hair was shorter now and sleek, but when her head was lifted, he saw ever familiar dark eyes and pale face with sunken cheeks and pronounced cheekbones, and realized with a jolt that this one was Hermione Granger.

Only that she looked much older. And extremely bloody. And clad in black. And incredibly skinny, like a starved dog. And holding an item he could not name.

Her eyes were bore into the Dark Lord.

'You!' she spat venomously as if the mere word was an unforgivable curse.

'Well, well, well. What have we hear?' the Dark Lord's voice was smooth but with a heavily pronounced fury manifesting in every syllable.

'My lord.' Snape was the first Death Eater to speak out in the ringing silence that filled the room 'It's Hermione Granger. A mudblood. But' he hesitated 'It's not really her.'

'Snape!' she breathed out, trying to lift herself by her arms and failing 'We're all in terrible danger!'

With that she passed out.

'Snape? What is this filth doing here? You know her?' Bellatrix Lestrange found her voice and it was laden with malice and fury. She sprang to her feet, nearly jumped on the table and crouched beside the girl. The woman.

They all saw it, a puddle of blood blossoming around the body.

'Oh I know her. Icky mudblood from Department of Mysteries. Potter's friend.' she hissed and then looked at her lord, eyebrows high and eyes round as saucers 'She's wounded. May I have the honor to kill her?'

'Your bloodlust in inspiring, Bellatrix. But first, Severus, explain what did she say to you.'

'I don't know, my lord. Get off her, Bella. If you kill her now or let her die, we'll never know.' Snape stood up from his chair and stared at the women with cold, even gaze.

'Why would we care?' she hissed at him.

'Because' he turned to the Dark Lord 'the Granger I know is seventeen. This Granger is older.'

'Severus. Do you think she might have traveled in time?' there was something in the Dark Lord's voice Draco could not understand 'And she tried to warn us?'

'May I heal her?' the Potion Master was circling the table.

Draco saw Bellatrix pout and stare at her Master, imploring him to allow her to kill the girl, but the Dark Lord nodded at Snape so she jumped back down.

'Here's your mudfriend, Severus.' she snickered at Snape and Death Eaters found their voices and snickered as well, but he paid them no heed and climbed on the table, and pushed the girl so that she was on her back.

'My lord.' he spoke and disbelief was etched on his face 'It's not a magical wound. She has a hole in her side.'

'Severus.' Charity Burbage, very much alive and now covered with Hermione's blood, sat up, her back rigid 'It's a gunshot wound.'

Draco saw Snape look at the teacher and then back at Granger.

'How do I cure it?' he asked quietly and the conversation felt somehow intimate.

'You need to remove the bullet.' the teacher also crouched by the body 'There's no exit wound. It means the bullet's inside.'

'What are you talking about?' the Dark Lord inquired.

'My lord' Snape bowed slightly in front of his master 'I believe miss Burbage will be able to explain much better.'

'Very well. Consider this your lucky moment, miss Burbage. You will live for few more minutes.' the Dark Lord was now looking at the woman, his gaze almost expectant. Draco heard Bellatrix huff and murmur something to herself.

'I-erm.' Charity Burbage tried to muster either her strength or courage.

'You dare to address the Dark Lord?' Bellatrix's voice was harsh and then she bellowed on top of her voice 'WITHOUT HIS PROPER TITLE?'

'My lord.' Burbage tried once again, her voice on the verge of cracking 'It's a muggle weapon, a gun. It fires, erm, metal objects known as bullets. They travel at great speed and can pierce a human body with ease. Se-Severus must remove then bullet and then address the wound. Otherwise-otherwise the bullet will stay inside her body and create-create-' she broke off, sobbed and then spoke out again 'It will get infected.'

'Very well' the Dark Lord repeated and moved his wand 'Accio bullet.'

It was a mistake of sorts, as the bullet emerged by making a new hole in the girl's body, having traveled across it and emerging via her shoulder. Blood gushed freely now, and Draco heard Snape curse under his breath. He began murmuring the incantation almost immediately, trying to slow the bleeding and heal the shock.

'She needs potion, my lord, if not a professional healer.' Snape looked from above Hermione's body at the Dark Lord.

'Do not be lenient, Severus. Revive her, we don't need her, just the information.' his voice was cold and angry and Severus Snape nodded.

'As you command.' with a flick of his wand, he forced Hermione into consciousness.

And so she woke up, staring at the ceiling, and then she coughed and spat blood out and Draco shivered and swallowed, his throat constricted and dry.

'What did you yell at me, Mudblood?' the Dark Lord inquired, his voice commanding and smooth just the like the snake that coiled around his feet. Draco saw her move, she looked at Snape whose face was grim, then her head turned and she looked at him, straight in the eye and what he found in her eyes was, to put it mildly, unsettling.

It was familiarity of that sort of camaraderie that only could be crafted on battlefields. He swallowed again. And the her eyes move back to Snape.

'What date is it?' she asked, her voice very quiet and tired.

'Autumn 1997' the answer was immediate.

'Fuck.' she breathed and Draco felt shocked, he never heard the Mudblood curse or do anything really improper. She was the bookworm, the boring, not-so-pretty girl that trotted around that git, Precious Potter and the redheaded weasel. 'Five years.'

And then she grabbed Snape's arm and pushed herself upwards and groaned in pain. Then she forced herself, her effort very visible, to crouch and turned around, still on the table, to face the Dark Lord. Draco felt another wave of shock as she watched her; the girl stared at the Dark Lord with something resembling fury on her face.

'Have you attacked Little Whining already?' she asked him, her voice demanding and crystal clear.

'Who have told you of the Dark Lord's plans, MUDBLOOD!?' it was Lestrange, who reacted first, howling with insane anger. In one blurry moment she flashed her wand at the girl, but the curse rebounded.

'Compose yourself, Bellatrix. Or leave us.' the Dark Lord's voice boomed across the chamber, wand drawn and eyes alight with malice.

He watched his aunt, watched as her demeanor crumbled and her lips shivered slightly as she sat back down, dejected and sorrowful.

'How do you know of my plans, filth?' the Dark Lord demanded of Hermione now, his eyes fixed upon her.

'We've' she coughed and spat some blood and winced 'reconstructed the events that led to this.' her gaze was level and calm, like a gaze of someone who has braced oneself for the worst and faced death itself.

'To this?'

The girl ignored his question and her eyes traveled across the room, looking at all of the Death Eaters as if trying to count them.

'In my timeline - and we're headed for it almost inevitably - every person in this room - myself included - is dead.' she deadpanned.

There were whispers and gasps all around the room, but Hermione visibly paid them no heed and once again looked at the Dark Lord.

'Including you as well, Dark Lord.' the last two words were pure venom 'The moment you attack Little Whining you doom the entire Wizarding World.' and with that statement, Hermione Granger once again spat blood, this time it was quite a lot, they all heard her inhale, choke, cough and then she crashed into the table, either unconscious or dead.


	3. Nighttime

Of all the things that have come to pass, this one was definitely the strangest one, she thought after regaining her senses. She was lying on a makeshift bed, her wounds addressed and her arms and legs tied to the bedpost so that she would not not run, and staring at the ceiling.

She was alive, once again, the thought nearly maddening. In her own timeline, she was either a churned corpse or dust in the wind. Or dying from radiation, skin peeling off and multiple cancers consuming her from the inside. Maybe they all were, all of those who survived the battle. She could imagine the terror and the burnt air and smoke and so she coughed and forced herself not to think of that.

Because, as of now, she managed to pull off quite a stunt. The portkey had worked - but in a manner that was unthinkable. Instead of throwing her into someplace, it threw her across the time, five years back. Which meant - and at the thought she nearly groaned with anxiety - that now England had two Hermiones. One that was sixteen and - presumably - waiting for the Battle of Seven Potters, and one that was twenty one and skilled in both magical and Muggle combat.

That is why seeing both Snape and Draco - a war hero and a close friend - nearly made her jolt with joy and hug them. Only then she had realized that Snape's sacrifice has not yet been discovered and the boy was still a poor kid forced into war he never had the stomach for.

She knew she should not. It was a principle: never interfere with the timeline. An action of this sort, could alter her timeline beyond repairing. And yet, knowing that her timeline meant a real apocalypse, she wanted nothing more but to undo it. She would never return there - this much was obvious. First, she never wanted to, knowing that it would the death of her. A second, it was probably impossible. The magic she used was corrupted - presumably because of the nuclear impact - and there was no real way of either repeating the same scenario (unless, she chuckled sourly, she found a way to explode a nuclear bomb). No Time Turner could aid her as well. And Dumbledore, the man who knew of many things but spoke of too few, was dead. Had she traveled further back, she might have found him alive - and maybe the two of them could figure something out.

The Dark Git maybe had the power to alter the time but, definitely, he was too dumb to figure it out.

She snickered, this time louder and her train of thoughts was disturbed by someone walking into the room.

'Severus!' she smiled at the man who had sacrificed so much and in vane.

'Miss Granger. Is that a way to address your teacher?' his voice was silky and cold.

'But a war hero and friend? I'd say yes. I know' she emphasized the word 'of your sacrifice. Harry's told me. The Harry- well, the future Harry, this one's clueless.'

'Did you hit your head, miss Granger?' he glared at her so she used the only resource she had and entered his mind.

'Severus, I know you're still working for Dumbledore. I know he asked you to kill him - you had to save Draco and the Horcrux would've kill him anyway. I know it all.'

He shifted but stayed in control.

'I see someone's learned Occlumensy.' he answered in his head. 'You know you should not speak of the future.'

'My timeline is death, Severus. Not mine only, but the entire world's. When Voldemort attacks Muggles, a world war erupts and we all die.'

'You wish to change the future?'

'I need to avoid it.' she stated simply. 'I must speak with him. With Vol- You-Know-Who. Does the taboo work on thoughts or only on saying his name aloud?'

'I'd rather not risk it.' he answered, somehow vaguely and then addressed her in his trademark silky voice 'Miss Granger, I repeat, did you hit your head? The nonsense is rather Weasley-like, and not your usual know-it-all semblance.'

'Professor Snape' she rolled her eyes almost against her will but played on 'I might have.'

He nodded briskly.

'I do not know nor care, miss Granger, why does the Dark Lord wish to speak to you. But he does, so I daresay it would be a smart thing to preserve your energy for your encounter. And that would mean, you should rather not strain yourself with that nonsense talk. Unless you'd prefer it that Madame Lestrange where to tend to you in my stead.' it almost sounded like the Snape that taught potions and taunted Neville than the Snape who died not so long ago having saved all their lives - for what it felt like, tenth time.

He must have seen it, the scar on her forearm, the farewell gift from Bellatrix Lestrange, those letter that screamed 'Mudblood' in almost childlike handwriting. At the time, the torture felt like a big deal. But then, upon having seen, what fate had in mind for Bellatrix, Hermione found herself rather sorry for the Death Eater. Right now, she had to face Snape's eyes, cautious and almost wary. The Potions Master must have read her mind - she allowed her shields to drop for some time - and right now he was looking slightly sick with the very idea of Lestange's torture.

'I shall see to you, miss Granger, later on. Is there anything you require?' he stepped away from the bed and turned round when he was near the door that led out.

'Yes. Is Professor-?'

'Yes. It seems our Lord has something in mind, miss Granger. No off with you. I would recommend you sleep.' with a swish of robes and crack of wood, he was out the room and once again she found herself alone, staring at the ceiling and battling what felt like impending madness.

She looked around. The room was quite small, more of a broom closet actually than anything else. The walls were of stone and the floor as well, one very small window was barred. The makeshift bed consisted of a metal frame and a rather lumpy mattress. There was a small table beside it and a chair. Yet there were no chains on the wall nor anything else that would give the impression of Malfoy dungeon, slash, prison. It was daytime, a faint light entered the room via the window. She took a deep breath and felt the all-familiar pain in her side, she shifted and felt the stitches, but she was alive and the air, though slightly damp, was quite fresh and smelled of no burning nor was it pierced with screams of the dying. Her present? past? self would probably be sweating with trepidation at her surroundings, while her future? self considered the whole affair pleasant.

Anything was better than that battlefield and the oh-so-beautiful missile of fiery death. Even an avada from the Dark Git (she chuckled once again) would be quiet lovely.

At some point she must have drifted asleep.

Walls of stone and marble hall covered with blood. Running. Up the staircase and faster, the EMP blasting and guns roaring, debris in the air. Wand, useless - a stick to take someone's eye out - tucked into the back pocket of her jeans. 'Must get a gun.' The howl. Narcissa Malfoy, bleeding profusely in tow.

'Go, Hermione! Leave me!'

'The fuck I am.' grabbing the blonde by arm, pulling her, but they are too slow and the OPs are so close she can almost see them.

'Surrender! Drop your weapons! Hands in the air! Now! Now!' male voice, distorted by helmet, as he points his gun at them.

Powerful blast, plaster flies from the ceiling. The man down, tumbling down the stairs. Ginny, advanced pregnancy and a Kalashnikov in her hands.

'Move, for fuckssake!'

'What's the noise?' she asks Weasley, sorry, Malfoy and once again there's this blast and plaster falls from the ceiling, they duck behind a statue.

'They're blowing this place up!' she answers.

'Draco?' Narcissa is panting, sweat and blood on her forehead.

'Leading backup. We need to move!'

They run. Up the stairs. OPs not so far behind them. The giant hallway, huge window.

'Jump!' Ginny yells and empties an entire mag at the OPs 'I'll cover!'

She pushes Narcissa forward, the woman covers her face with her elbow and smashes the window and jumps, she's about to follow in her wake, but there's this bullet that hits Ginny.

Headshot. Kalashnikov comes crashing on the ground as the girl collapses, all is happening as if in slow motion. When she hits the floor she's already dead and Hermione's yelling something and picking up the gun and reloading and firing and firing and the enemy takes cover, but they fire back and she has to go, so she swallows her tears and jumps.

She hits the ground, rolls and -

-she's awake and sweating.

'Bad dreams?' Draco drawled, standing beside her bed, his blond head cocked and eyes troubled.

How does one tell someone they've just witnessed their love's death, she asked herself almost immediately and chewed on her lower lip, trying to calm down.

'Imagine.' her answer came out in low growl, almost aggressive and the boy took a step back, wand up and pointing at her head.

'Don't be daft, mudblood.' he snorted and she realized that this boy is not yet the man who has loved and fought and died beside her, so she simply cocked her eyebrow at him and refused to dignify that statement with an answer.

'Anyway, mudblood, Snape was supposed to come and fetch you, but he's busy, so I'm in his stead.' he explained in his cold voice, trying and failing to sound dangerous or offhand or the two at the same time. 'Come on, you are going to meet the Dark Lord. Again.'

She forced herself to sit up. Of course, they would not be kind enough to let her heal even a little bit. Since her life was not in imminent danger anymore, she was as ready as ever to speak to the Dark Git. She threw her legs off the bed and tried to stand up. She felt a little lopsided, probably the same way Harry had felt when Lockhart removed bones from his arm so many eons ago.

'Draco?' she said it out of custom and saw his eyes go round with confusion 'Do I get any clothes? Or do you want me to prance in that lovely shift?'

Someone changed her clothing. She was now clad in some terribly ragged white nightgown, probably looking like a very Muggle White Lady, the legendary specter that was supposed to haunt abandoned castles, for all sorts of different reasons depending on the local folklore. Most of those reason, however, had something to do with love either scorned or forbidden. And with that she realized that unless she managed somehow to get a grip on her train of thoughts, she was very likely to talk nonsense all day long.

Night. She looked at the window and it was black. Night.

'Yeah, I guess.' Malfoy shrugged 'Your gear isn't that damaged. Nelly!' he exclaimed and with a soft pop a creature with huge eyes and big ear appeared.

A house elf. She had not seen them for a long time. They had shared a fate even worse than their masters. And that reminded her, albeit, vaguely, of S.P.E.W. and life that used to be much simpler.

Simpler, until the Dark Git had gone and done an apocalypse because he was too stupid to realize that odds of a thousand to one are not good. Even when the one had magic.

'Get this mudblood's clothes.' the boy ordered, much back in his pre-Voldy quality.

'As you wish, Young Master.' the elf bowed and disappeared with another pop.

'Nothing changes, eh?' she asked the boy, feeling a little bemused at his antics.

'What are on about, mudblood?' he scowled.

'Nothing, really. I'm just not used to the new - I mean, old, you.' she scratched her nose and looked him in the eye 'I much prefer your future self.'

'So, I die in your timeline, yes?' when he spoke, his voice was very small.

'Yeah. But you die a change man, Draco. You die, actually, a bloody hero.' she smiled at him.

'Why do you do that?' he took another step back 'Don't forget we're not equals. Or friends-' with that he opened his mouth very wide and looked at her with wonder 'Are we?'

'Sorry to break that to you, but the next autumn we're thick as thieves.' she shrugged.

'Oh.' he squealed almost like a girl but then the elf reappeared, her gear across its outstretched arms.

'Thanks.' she mumbled to the elf, unable to look it in the eye 'You're Nelly?' realization hit her like a hammer.

'Mistress should not speak Nelly's name. Mistress should not address Nelly. At all.' the elf exclaimed nervously and banged her head against the wall, probably punishing itself for either talking to her disrespecting a human.

'Go, Nelly.' Malfoy sighed and then advanced at her 'What was that, you want to steal me another elf?'

'First of all it was Harry. And second. She'll save your life. Twice. And she'll take a knife for you.'

'Oh.' his jaw dropped and then he swallowed with visible difficulty 'Well' he recomposed himself and spoke with indifference 'it is, after all, part of her job.'

'Ginny'll be devastated, though.' the words were faster than her thoughts.

'What's a Weasley got to do with that?'

'Oh crap.'

'What?' he almost roared, his brows knitted together.

'Sorry to break that to you, but you'll marry her.'

And that left him gob-struck, so she ushered him outside and took off the preposterous nightgown.

Her new gear - the one that she used to wear for the last two years - did not belong to this world. This still was a world of pure-bloods and their bloody ethics, of a certain dress code (robes, robes and once again robes), of diners and families and all things so homely and unlike to her. It felt out of place to put on those black leather pants, that were like second skin. Or knee high boots with a pronounced heel and many buckles on the side. Or that corset-kind of vest that was made of Kevlar mixed with dragon hide. Or the dragon leather jacket, that was now torn in two places. Or the belt around her waist with two holsters at the side. With a faint giggle she realized, that the elf had not removed her Berettas, probably considering them to be part of the garment.

She checked the mags and grinned. Had something gone terribly wrong, she would be able to shoot her way out; they were both full. And since she had her vest on, no spell could actually harm her.

They also had researched. Charlie Weasley had given the idea of dragon hide, a Polish Muggle-born of Kevlar, some Wizard from Prague who had a Muggle wife (who was a chemistry professor at the local university) and three Wizards (one from Vatican - he was a member of the Swiss Guard which guarded the Pope -who, oddly as it was, had been a man who instead of condemning the Wizards, condemned those who attacked them, stating that all life was sacred. But then the pope had been assassinated, probably by a CIA specialist and a very strict Jesuit was chosen on his place and the whole line changed- one from Bucharest and one from Berlin) had worked on the formula. The vest was bulletproof to some extent and, what came as a surprise of sorts, fully magic-proof.

She walked to the door and smiled at Draco, who was pacing around nervously.

'Granger' it was the first time he used her last name 'Are you telling me truth?' his face was flushed.

'I have no reason to lie, Draco. I'm twenty one and have fought in a war for almost five years. Please, don't think I'm in the mood to trick teenagers.' she sighed, slightly exasperated.

'How does Mother die?' he breathed in an instant.

'I'm sorry.' she swallowed. She grew to like the woman. 'She-she. She commits suicide when she learns of the-'she broke off 'Draco, the Muggles will find a way to disrupt any spellcasting. When we lose our magic, many give up. And she didn't want to...undergo one again.'

'Undergo?' he paled.

'Draco. She will be captured by them. And tortured. Badly. We'll spring her for a facility in London. But-' she broke off once again and cleared her throat 'This timeline, my timeline. It's vile and ends with a catastrophe. It must not happen. Even if that means there's two of us, two of me, rather, in England at the same time.'

He was pale like a ghost now.

'How?' his voice was merely a breath.

'We must stop him.'

'How?' he repeated, this time his voice on the verge of cracking.

'He must die.' she whispered back at him.

'Draco?' another voice spoke from a distance and he jumped away from her, staring with panic at the stairway which led up 'What's with the tardiness? The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting.'

'Coming Mother.' he answered, and she heard his effort to stay calm.

'Steady, Draco. Steady.' she murmured at him 'Lead the way. And remember. As of now, I'm still the Mudblood you despise.'

He nodded and then drew his wand out.

'Sorry.' he looked very sheepish and led her up the stairway, to the waiting Lord Voldemort.


	4. Mudblood's Tale

Narcissa Malfoy shifted for the tenth time and forced herself to remain steady. The Dark Lord had decided, some time ago, that he would address the Mudblood publicly. She sat beside Lucius and Bella, the latter still furious and aggressive. Her oldest sister, so changed after those years in Azkaban, was - maybe not completely - different person to the woman she used to know. Waiting for the Mudblood to arrive, Narcissa allowed herself to take a plunge in memories.

With the Dark Lord's return everything changed. She was no fan of Mudbloods and would, of course, wish them away, preferably shunned back to the world they had emerged from, yet the current policy was, if not, slightly unnerving. The Dark Lord had changed as well, from a charismatic leader who promised them the return of the era that had been long lost, the era of balls and mansions, the era of powerful families ruling the land, the famous golden era which her parents would mourn until their last breath, he now became this terrible being, almost undead, somehow shaken - as if in his very core - by his own demise into something that no more fit into this world.

She would follow Lucius, of course. Her husband was the man who would always stand straight, chin lifted and eyes full of cold fire. She trusted him and he was something she prized beyond anything else - apart from her son.

Draco. She sighed inwardly. Draco, whose eyes had become so haunted since that night.

And now, this Draco had returned into the chamber, pale like a sheet, with almost glassy eyes, the Mudblood following him closely. She allowed her gaze to venture from her son onto her; she was also different from the girl she had seen some time ago. She had heard of her, a mousy little creature that followed the Potters' boy - with whom the Dark Lord had something that resembled a fixation, almost sick in its nature - a pesky little know-it-all, with bad manners and bushy hair. Draco would speak of her quite often, of how she was annoying and plain, silly and boring, most of the times lonely, trailing behind two boys for the lack of better friends.

This Mudblood was no more a girl, she realized. This Mudblood was a woman, quite tall, with a very straight back and defiant jaw. Her eyes were very cold and calculating, her hair, now reaching just barely above her shoulder blades was no more bushy and of the color of chestnut and red wine; with a faint scar running across her upper lip, almost indistinguishable in the light and another, even fainter, running across her left eyebrow and onto her cheek; clad in some peculiar black outfit.

She heard Bella and shot her sister a swift look; she was staring at the Mudblood attentively, disgust mixed with curiosity, her eyes squinted ever so slightly.

The Dark Lord was staring at the Mudblood, his expression unreadable. Draco bowed before him, while she remained stoic.

'Do you know not how to greet your lord, filth?' she heard her Lord speak, his voice soft but full of malice. If she was the one who was addressed in such manner, Narcissa would have flung herself at his feet immediately, beginning for forgiveness.

'You're not my lord.' the Mudblood, apparently hell-bent on a death wish, spoke in cool voice.

Her sister reacted immediately. With an angry shriek she almost flew out of the chair.

'Sit down, Bellatrix.' the Dark Lord's voice momentarily threw her back onto her seat 'I hope you are all aware I can fight my own fights.' his gaze returned to the Mudblood and now his voice was full of fury 'Filth, before you die, I will gladly teach you how to respect your superiors. Crucio.'

She saw the spell hit the girl. She flinched. Narcissa found herself emitting a very unladylike sound: she gasped. The Mudblood flinched but beside that nothing happened. The girl did not look fazed either.

'Is that it?' her eyebrow flew up 'Can we proceed or are we going to spend all evening hurtling curses all around the room?'

Bellatrix shrieked and the sound was so sharp that she shuddered and nearly leaped out of her chair as well. She forced herself calm and looked at her master who was apparently about to blow as well. He composed himself.

'Silence.' he ordered, cold fury etched onto his face like a demon's mask, as the room began to mutter and mumble at the incident. 'I said: silence. Now' as the room quieted down, obviously well aware that next sound would result in an avada kedavra in the air 'explain, filth, how did you perform that kind of magic without a wand.'

'I may let you live.' he added shortly after.

It was a lie, of course. No one could insult the Dark Lord and live on to spread the tale.

'You won't. Let me live.' the Mudblood spoke out, once again, this time however sounding almost tired, as if she had lived for a millennium and was weary 'You'll kill me first chance you get. But if you, you'll never know what's going to happen in the future.'

Narcissa stole a quick gaze at her sister, who was about to leap from her chair and simply tear the girl to shreds. She realized that the moment Bellatrix stood up, an avada kedavra would crash into her, despite the fact that she was his best lieutenant. So she reached out and did something that was out of custom; she placed her hand on her sister's forearm and gripped it tightly, trying to convey her warning wordlessly. She felt the muscles beneath her clench; as Bellatrix fingers grabbed the armrest, the Death Eater fought the instinct, probably aware now of what would happen had she lost her temper. Narcissa exhaled slowly, still forcing the woman's arm down. It did not matter whether she would bruise Bellatrix, no matter how scary and insane her sister had become, she was still a Black and Blacks stood for each other.

'Very well, filth. Entertain us with your tale before I bore of you and have Naigini claim her dinner.' the Dark Voice merely breathed.

'Very well.' she mimicked him 'How do I start? You attack a Muggle town. No casualties on your side apart from a single Death Eater who gets shot by a policeman. The Death Eater survives and is arrested. Soon there inquiries. Your pure-blood idiot begins rambling. About you and magic and your superiority. It reaches the ears of MI-7'

'And what is, pray tell me, filth, MI-7?' the Dark Lord cut in, now - from what Narcissa noticed - curious.

'The Muggles have their means of protection. No one really knows it exists. It's like a-' the Mudblood stopped and knitted her brows together, probably thinking of a best way to describe it 'It's like a Muggle Death Eaters organisation. It gathers information. There are many... subdivisions and this one, theoretically disbanded, works on what is called anomalies. The moment your pure-blood idiot starts babbling, they know that they were right. While you, oh Dark Lord, run around the country, causing havoc and mayhem and hunting for Potter and Ron and, well, myself, the Muggles are working on what will be called The Protection Act. And since you're targeting us, Muggle-borns, they rally with their side, which, at this point is only logical.'

'I hardly see a disaster.' he cut in, once again angry 'What is a rally of some flith and Muggles against me or my Death Eaters?'

She sighed. The sigh was long and deep and it almost felt like his words were a proof of some sort.

'There is seven billion Muggles out there.' she said, her voice also brimming with anger 'It's more than a thousand of them against a single Wizard.'

The room gasped once again.

'YOU LIE!' the Dark Lord screamed 'It is impossible! Now, die! Avada kedavra!'

The ever familiar jet of startling green light flew across the room, hit the girl across the chest and she fell back-

-fell back a step and straightened once again.

'WHAT KIND OF MAGIC IS THAT, FILTH?!' The Dark Lord stood up and fired another avada and another, but to no avail.

Suddenly she knew what would happen in the next moment. A curse cast with too much fury missed the girl. She saw it, the green jet making its way towards-

'DRACO!' she could no longer hold that in and she stood up and screamed.

But the Mudblood got in the way, she pushed him out of its way and once again was struck by it. This time something else happened. She pulled something from her side, it was black and shiny, then there was a bang and the Dark Lord was thrown backwards and toppled over.

'GRAB HER!' Bellatrix was up, chair flying, she pointed at Mudblood but run to her lord. They were all stunned. In a second, Bellatrix was beside him and kneeling and she cried in relief 'You're alive, my lord.'

'Grab her.' came his reply, hoarse but mad with fury 'Grab her and the boy. The Malfoys can't be trusted.'

She froze as wands shoot up in her direction. She felt someone; an arm grabbed her shoulder and a feminine voice spoke out.

'You're coming or wanna stay here?'

Another hand grabbed her and pulled her back, she turned around, it was Draco.

'Come, Mother. He'll kill us.'

'Stay!' Lucius' voice reached her ears.

'Father.' her son sounded as if he was pleading.

She didn't know what was happening. She was being pulled out of the room by Draco while the Mudblood was making those banging noises and Death Eaters were falling. Soon they were running down the stairs, their pursuit somehow slowed down.

'Draco!' the Mudblood yelled 'The brooms.'

'Accio!' Draco shouted 'Accio! Accio broom!'

There was a bang, this one much different, less sharp, more resembling a thud and suddenly three broomsticks were hurtling towards them. She found herself mounting one, as did Draco and Mudblood.

'Go!' the girl yelled and kicked off. Even airborne, she was able to fire - for it must have been what she was doing, after all - at the pursuers. They had to take cover. For a second she could see Lucius and Bellatrix, the first one in a state of utter panic, the latter beside herself with fury, then her son grabbed and pulled. They sped across the main hallway, Draco reaching out for his wand and blasting the doors away, and they were outside, the night air cold and clear, moon high in the sky. The directed their brooms upwards, flying towards it, her eyes were filled with tears, she could not tell whether they were because of the cold air or - or something else.

Their pursuers never caught up with them. They were flying for few hours, heading north, as if towards Hogwarts, then, after the Mudblood commanded so, they changed direction and went west. Suddenly some lights appeared below, far beneath them.

'Let's go.' she pointed the broom downwards and they followed in her wake.

They landed outside some Muggle town. Narcissa was almost nauseous now, sick with trepidation and shock.

'What have you done, Mudblood?' she shrieked at the girl, tempted with the idea with cursing her into oblivion. She turned her head and stated at her son 'Draco? Has she corrupted you? Why?'

'I believe she has just saved your lives.' the Mudblood spoke out, her voice brisk 'But you don't have to thank me. Listen-'

'Mudblood, what have you done?' Draco's voice was almost on the edge of snappish.

'Listen. I will be more than happy to talk to you. But how about we go in town and warm up?'

'You want us to enter a Muggle crap hole?' normally she would have chastised Draco for such wording, now, however, was not the case.

'Yes!' the girl hissed, presumably losing her patient. 'Listen. You can just hear me out and decide whether you want to join me-'

'Join you?' she felt the air leave her lungs with terrible speed 'Join you?' she spat, livid now, all dignity forgotten.

'You can either join me or end up like you do in my timeline!' the girl exclaimed.

The words caught her off her guard.

'And how do I end up in your timeline?' she hissed, truly livid now. The situation was absurd.

'Dead.' the girl answered 'As does your son, your husband and your sister.'

The silence that erupted was eerie. She staggered backwards and suddenly felt a surge of pain in her chest.

'Dead? All of them?' she forced the words out of her mouth, feeling suddenly as if her lips became wooden.

'Yes. Come, Mrs. Malfoy. Let me do the explaining.' the girl's voice was now softer, imploring her to come. She looked to her son and he was upset, eyes darting from the Mudblood to herself.

'Well.' she lifted her chin defiantly 'Lead on. But if this is a trick of sorts, Mudblood, know that you will pay.'

'I would not expect anything less from you, Lady Malfoy.' the way the girl nodded at her was somehow...camaraderie-like. She swallowed her questions and followed her into the Muggle town.

The Mudblood led them into some kind of bar. It was very small and very filthy, with white falls covered with some kind of a glassy stone, and a metal (it was truly peculiar) counter with some parts made of glass. She could see sausages rolling on some iron (maybe?) bars. The whole place was ugly and cheap and in bad taste. The Mudblood ushered them to a sit, the two of them as uncomfortable, as possible. She feared that if she should touch something, she would remain forever tainted. And so she sat in her plastic chair, very stiff and trying no to move too much.

A Muggle woman in white apron walked towards them and handed them three cards covered with some strange substance.

'Thanks.' The Mudblood shot the woman a short smile.

She could see the Muggle ogling them, her eyes traveling from herself, to Draco and onto the Mudblood, who, upon feeling her gaze, gave the woman a short, cautious look.

'I'll have a cappuccino.' the Mudblood spoke in a commanding voice. The Muggle looked shocked at her unpleasant demeanor.

'I'll have one as well.' Draco added hastily and Narcissa found herself saying that indeed, she shall have one too.

The Muggle walked off, either insulted by the treatment she received or still puzzled about their appearance. They waited patiently for the woman to return with a tray and three cups on it. She put it on the table with too much force and Narcissa thought that if her elves were as rude as her, they would be happy to escape with a crucio. The Muggle world was simply distasteful, with its overly bright lights and cheap music and bad manners. She sighed. This was by far worse than she could have ever anticipated. She looked at her son, he was staring at his cup with a very forlorn expression. She felt somebody's gaze and lifted her head. It was the Mudblood, with something that resembled pity in her eyes. She scoffed, but she did not find enough energy to address that awful creature.

'Lady Malfoy.' the girl spoke in a low voice 'Please muffle the sounds around us.'

'Can't you do that yourself, Mudblood?' Draco drawled and this was so familiar, she almost wanted to hug him right here and right now.

'No, Draco.' the Mudblood send him a quick glance 'In my timeline the magic's useless. And my wand broke during the... incident.' she finished, somehow lamely.

'Magic's useless?' she saw her son's eyes grow wide with terror. She felt it herself, too. As if a cold hand had reached for her and pushed through her chest, clenching her heart. Without any ado, she cast muffling charm and then anti-detection charms, Draco followed. Soon enough they were heavily warded, as if preparing themselves for an attack.

The woman was watching them with almost longing look in her eyes. She could not help but marvel at the girl; this silent person with scars on her face and a very tired look in her eyes, she looked like someone who has undergone real hell.

'Very well.' the Mudblood spoke out and cleared her throat 'I'll carry on from where I have been stopped.'

They nodded their approvals. Suddenly Narcissa felt as if what she was to hear next, would change everything and momentarily plunged into deep anxiety.

'So, as I've said. The moment he attacks Little Whining, we are exposed to the Muggle world. While he's chasing across the country after the three of us, they are assembling both weapons and tactics. They'll be working on the EMP, Electromagnetic Impulse, don't ask me to explain it in detail, which will in the next few years render magic useless.'

'How?' Draco breathed out.

'It somehow disturbs the magic impulse. The one that comes out of our wands. Whenever it's send, the EMP blocks our impulse in its vicinity.'

'Oh no.' she heard herself gasp.

'While Muggleborns are joining the Muggles, and he's absolutely unaware of anything, considering himself above all the fuss; while he's engaging in conflicts with the Order, the Muggles are rallying world-wide. Soon their secret organisations, such as the CIA or KGB - they're all like the MI-7 I spoke about earlier. They're planning their tactics, gathering at international level. Soon the UN, United Nations, which is an organisation that consists of every country's delegates, will make a huge strategy system, the WHO or World Health Organisation - that's also international - begins experiments on wizards, the NATO, North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, which is a huge military system, begins an operation which is called, ironically, the Cleansweap. The wizards are captured and...uh...experimented on.'

'How?' she demanded, her voice hard and eyes alight with a mixture of panic and revulsion.

'I'd rather not tell you.' her voice was cross 'Please, it's bad enough to have lost friends to such experiments, I really don't want to go through with that again.'

She nodded, swallowing hard.

'There is another movement, though. While on the official side it's the Cleansweap and it's mainly infiltration and, well, experimentation , there's also this The Protection Act. It's something of a corridor talk, nothing is official. The, uh, some of the major criminal organisations form a partnership with those who wish to enforce this Act. It's-erm.' she licked her lips and took a big gulp of her drink 'It's a major thing. See, he's acting out, hunting, attacking, killing. The Muggle governments are concealing his existence, or our existence, from the public. They control the newspapers. They are afraid that if the news goes out too early, we'll be able to undertake some steps. Their agents are, however, monitoring the situation. They're waiting for a weakness. There are two groups fighting, while they are strong, the Muggles do not act. They wait, bid their time. While the Cleansweapers wish to-erm- register us all and control the magic, the Protection Act believers, the Protectors as they will call themselves in the future, want to eliminate us.'

They all held their breaths.

'The more he goes crazy, the more Protectors appear. The Muggleborns do not know of The Protection Act, of course. They agree on Cleansweap because they believe it's the lesser evil. Registration instead of, well, him. Furthermore, they work very hard on the Cleansweap. They provide the Muggles with knowledge. Our strengths, weaknesses and so on. They expose all the schools. Probably all around the world. Dumbledore's dead - and maybe he was the one who would be able to notice that the tide is shifting. The Protectors and the mafia form a pact. Their - the mafia, the criminals'- men can snatch us at will. They're the arm of vengeance, called the Vigilantes. Whatever they snatch is their by right. Women, mostly as some men also, are usually deprived of their wands and sold...erm... to brothels. It's something of a kick of adrenaline, you know, to bed a real life witch. The-erm' the Mudbloods eyes were almost apologetic now and she found herself dying of dread 'They favor pure blood women most of all.'

She drew a deep breath, feeling as if she was about to either vomit or faint.

'We are oblivious. Just before the Battle of Hogwarts - it will occur in May - there's a major shift in the Muggle political world. The mafia money flows freely into certain parties' - or groups that have some doctrines they follow - pockets and there are takeovers all around the world. Some legal, some not. May the first, the Protection Act is implanted. The Muggleborns who worked for the Muggles are the first targets. The experiments are now not only legal, but public. The new Prime Minister of England - the Muggle Minister for Magic - declares magic is real and a threat. The public panics.'

'The next day he attacks Hogwarts. In the middle of the battle, the Muggles attack. It's a slaughter. He dies almost by accident. See those?' she took one of those strange shining objects and places it on the table. They move forwards, in its direction and lean closely with morbid fascination 'They're guns. They fire small'

'Bullets' Draco piped in 'I listened to Professor Burbage's explanation of your wound.' he added, the comment presumably addressed to Narcissa, who merely nodded, unable to speak.

'While he flows around gloating the stupid Muggles, one of them fires a gun, only it's bigger and much more powerful. The bullets hits his head, he's dead within a second. We all flee. The teachers try to protect students. Slughorn dies, McGonagall dies, Sprout dies, Madame Pomfrey gets hauled off, the older kids are butchered, first and second years are captured. You're' suddenly the Mudblood lifts her head and stares her dead in the eye 'capture alongside Lestrange' she said the last name with venom 'and your husband, Harry saves Draco.'

'We flee. We're lost. The boys don't know what to do. Soon we join the others. Majority of them is pure bloods. They have no clue. Since I'm the only Muggle-born-'

'You're in charge.' Draco looked at the Mudblood with a small smile 'I'd figured. What do we do next?'

She shot him a small smile and it was familiar and it struck Narcissa that probably, in this near future, they are friends. If not something else.

'You ask me to go on a rescue mission. Your family is, after all, lost. It takes us the whole summer to track them, just me and you, the rest in unwilling to go after Death Eaters.'

'I'd figured.' Draco shrugged but his face was slightly crestfallen.

'We find them. We find you.' she said and stopped.

'Tell.' she was covered in cold sweat, knowing, that she is about to hear something horrible.

'Listen. You were snatched by the mafia men. Listen. Your sister hates Muggles. And so -erm. While she is screaming and being her insane self, she gives them The idea.'

She felt Draco stiffen and she was about to get sick on the table.

'Is she raped?' her voice was a hoarse whisper.

'Not only her. And not only once.' the answer is very quiet and very, very sad.

'Lucius?'

'Oh yes. Him too. Him and her the worst.'

The silence was pronounced and heavy and if Narcissa was no Black, she would have fainted or wept or vomited. But she was, so instead she lifted her head in some faux pride.

'Carry on.' her tone was icy.

'Mother.' Draco began, imploring her to stop.

'While we breach the institute, we find only you and your sister. Your husband had been sold to a brothel in Dubai, I think. Bellatrix is very sick. And so are you. The three of us are on the run, using Muggle vehicles and technology. Soon we run into Severus, McNair, Mulciber and Dolohov. They join us. The Order considers this a betrayal, it's now run by the Weasleys and Shacklebot, while he's fine, they're slightly insane, having lost both Fred and George. But-but we rescue Ginny Weasley and Harry joins us. Ron doesn't, he's with his parents. While the order is in disarray and losing people left and right, we assemble our own troops. We begin to fight. Soon the rest of the world is cut off, rumor has it that Americas - both of them - have already obliterated our people. Europe assembles, since we're effective, I-'

'You're the leader. He was the Golden Git, now you're the Golden Badass of Resistance.' Draco cut in, now, however, looking like a boy that's staring at a beautiful broom 'We fight. You said we all die.' there was something going on between the two of them; the girl nodded.

'Yes. Our last stand is northern parts of Scotland. Whoever's alive and up to a fight, is there. There are also children and elderly. We know it's done for. The Muggles use their ultimate weapon. The nuclear bomb. It's so powerful it can wipe out a huge area. First they strike Ireland because, I think, it was the second most powerful place of resistance. They strike it few times. Nobody survives, I think. We have no magic. My last memory is that I'm slowly dying because of the gunshot wound Severus healed, and trying to make a portkey, to save at least some of the children. I lay on my back, trying to cast a spell with the EMP disrupting any and every signal and I see it, the missile, coming our way. The second it struck, the portkey activates.'

'And you come crashing into Miss Burbage here.' a voice spoke out and they all jumped in their seats, Granger pointing the object - the gun - towards the intruder. It was Snape with Charity Burbage in tow, who's eyes were wide like saucers.

'Forgive me, Madame Malfoy, Draco, but your wards were not very good.'

'Severus.' Granger breathed out.

'Severus?' Draco turned around. Actually they both did.

'He's working for Dumbledore. Always has and always will.'

'But the kill...' Draco stated feebly.

'It was planned by Dumbledore.' she answered smoothly.

'Yes, I am not the villain you'd all gladly mark me as. Forgive me this disruption but how do we undo this mess, miss Granger?'


	5. Squirm!

She almost howled with amusement. Here she was, sitting in some awful diner, having an watery cappuccino in the dead of the night with those people. They were a group of sorts. No matter how she looked, it was still: consorting with enemies or having a coffee with the deceased. And since she was tired and shocked and bedazzled with the current state of events, she started. First it was a chuckle, then a snicker, then a laughter and then, finally, it was a - rather hysterical - howl. 

Draco's eyebrows flew up and Narcissa looked at her with a very stern expression.

'I'm-I'm sorry!' she managed to choke out between her howls 'B-b-b-but this is-' and here she was, bending over the table and nearly smashing her forehead against it.

'-from what I gathered, rather a situation, miss Granger.' Severus' silvery voice finished for her. With teary eyes she looked at her Potion Master, well friend, and saw something of a grumpy understanding. 'I believe' Snape turned towards the trio, with Charity nervous to the point of being jumpy, here eyes flying widely back and forth 'that miss Granger is having a coffee with enemies and, at the same time, with the dead.'

'Ha ha.' Draco chuckled lamely and brushed his lips with a papery napkin.

'She won't go insane, Severus? Will she?' it was Narcissa's low voice that forced her into calmness of sorts.

'Severus. I do exist in this timeline as well, don't I? I assume I do.' she turned to him, voicing something that had been eating your mind for quite a long time now.

'You're at the Burrow.' he nodded 'Soon you'll be extracting that boy from his aunt and uncle's.'

'And he'll attack and kill Moody.'

'Alastor will die?' Snape's voice was a little on edge.

'I don't really remember the whole story, but it will have something to do with Mundungus.'

'That scum.' Snape sighed softly 'Do you have a plan, miss Granger?'

'We can't interfere in this one. I'll be there. You know, the other one.' she shook her head, overriding a rather horrid feeling of being split in two 'And you know that she- I - well' she bit on her lower lip 'I don't think I'd like to see the other me, I mean, the young me wouldn't want to.'

'Doubtlessly.' Snape nodded 'This would be quite the shock.'

'And I'm not sure I could stop myself from killing him. Ron, I mean.' she added before she managed to stop herself.

'You'd want to kill the weasel?' Draco looked as if Christmas had come earlier 'Why?' he asked hastily.

'Oh, he'll screw so many things up. And Molly too. Actually, the three Weasleys: Molly, Arthur and Ron, really screw our future.'

'Oh. Ok.' Draco gave a halfhearted nod.

'Severus.' she turned to the man 'Has he already captured Ollivander?'

'Ollivander's been kidnapped?' Narcissa moved sharply.

'In early 1998 Harry, Ron and myself will be captured by Snatchers and held at your house prisoner. The boys will find Ollivander in a dungeon.'

'I believe he is held there. I would not bet my head however.' Snape added thoughtfully 'Why is he so important, miss Granger?'

'Two things.' she cleared her throat and finished her coffee in one last sip 'One I need a wand. Two he'll tell some important things to him.'

'In other words, you want us to raid the Malfoy Manor?'

'What date is today? Exactly?' she ignored Severus' question and asked her own, excitement building somewhere deep within herself.

And I thought myself numb beyond caring, a flash of thought ran through her head. It was both pleasant and scary, to feel things once again.

'It's June 25th.' Narcissa answered smoothly 'The-him' she corrected herself swiftly and licked her lips 'He said something-' and with that she stopped, looking confused.

'He will attack the convoy in two days' time.' Snape finished for her 'The Order will move the boy June 27th nighttime. And the Death Eaters will strike there and then.'

'They'll be all out.' Hermione smiled at the people 'This will be the best time to sneak into the Manor.' she gave the Malfoys a short look 'Your house, actually. Draco, Lady Malfoy, please plan this one. We need to sneak in and out without too much hassle. It would be excellent, if we avoided detection at all.'

'He'll know' Draco whispered 'He'll know we're-erm-with you.'

'Yes, of course. But he was too dumb to listen to my story. And he doesn't know what the two of you do. So-'

'-So he won't suspect we won't - as he would have us - flee. Instead of running to the Order - which I'm quite sure he suspects us of doing - we'll be marching straight into the lion's den.' Snape cut in, smooth and icy as always. 'I really hope, miss Granger, that this is not a rescue mission.'

'No.' she shook her head rather vehemently 'The current me would probably dash headfirst to save a man's life. But this one' she pointed her finger at her own chest and felt incredibly stupid 'well, I'm not that girl anymore.'

'I don't know whether it is good or bad.' Draco chimed in, sounding a little amused 'But you sure aren't that Mudblood bookworm anymore.'

'Sorry to break that to you, Draco, but in my timeline, well apart from being a churned corpse by now' they all flinched 'sorry but c'est la vie, you're not the spoiled pure-blood brat anymore as well.'

He snickered, making a half indignant noise that came from the back of his throat.

'Now. For the big one.' they all leaned in, apparently waiting to hear some more dreadful predictions, each captured in her tale in ways she had never anticipated, and so she shot them all a very small smile 'I'm broke. Does anyone have any Muggle money?'

There was a hassle at that. Of course no one had. In the end, Hermione had to rob the diner.

She borrowed a wand from Draco, removed the waitress' memory and altered it, so that the woman would remember an Albanian man with yellow teeth and a dragon tattoo on his chest, who came in, after everybody else was gone, and waved a gun at her, demanding in broke English the money. Then she checked for any monitoring and found a single street camera right outside the bar.

They had invented the spell, Snape and herself, in 1999.

'Reverso imagum!' she whispered, pointing Draco's wand and the last three hours of the recording had been erased. They all left, and then, she used the other spell, the one, that was tremendously difficult but extremely useful.

'Illusio.' she breathed, brows knitted tightly together and sweat beading her forehead, focusing on the man, imaging his height, body built and clothing, and then he sprung from the tip of the wand, marched across the street and into the diner. Once he was out of the camera's range, he dissolved. She turned to them saying 'A girl can't take too many precautio-' and stopped dead, seeing their faces with bulging eyes and jaws slack with shock 'What?'

'That's some... That's quite a magic.' Draco mumbled, nodding his head like on of those toy dogs that Muggles put by their windshields.

'Yeah.' she felt a small swell of pride 'That's science fiction stuff.'

Only Charity did not make a dumber face at her words. Instead something of excitement shone in her eyes and she almost raised her hand to speak, as if she was in a classroom.

'Oh. Those Muggle films!' she almost screeched at that 'Ooooh! Do you enjoy them, miss Granger?'

She smiled at the woman, and winked at her 'Not really, no.' and then she looked at the rest and smiled broadly 'That piece of information isn't really important. The brooms... how long will the enchantment hold?'

'Not for a very long time.' Draco found his voice 'Let's go get then, I think I have seen a motel earlier.'

'Motel?' she heard him repeat the word and could not help but roll her eyes.

In the end they rented two two rooms. Draco with Severus and the three women together. The clerk, a boy with sleepy eyes and fat chin, was looking at them with obvious dislike, apparently hating them for disrupting his nap. It was nearly dawn, when they climbed up a dusty staircase onto the second floor of the motel, and went to their rooms. She watched for Narcissa's expression, but the woman was very tired and ignored the cheap-pastel colors on the walls, or the not-so-clean curtains, never paid heed to small beds with old mattresses or to the very shabby carpet under their feet. Instead of saying anything, the woman marched into the bathroom and soon they could hear the shower.

'This is the telly!' she turned at the shriek and saw Charity Burbage staring with something that resembled reverence on her face at a very old and very flithy TV set that stood on a small table.

'Yes, it's the telly.' Hermione sighed 'But please do not turn in on now. I'm dying.'

'Of course, of course.' the woman nodded frantically and then her eyes fell on something else and she shrieked once again and Hermione found herself wanting to strangle her 'And that's the telephone!' her former teacher was pointing now at what indeed was a phone.

'Yes, miss Burbage.' she answered, gritting her teeth.

She had never found this woman so annoying. Either she had forgotten her overly-excited personality or the woman was still traumatized and tethering on the edge of full blown mania episode.

'Oh how swell! That's a Muggle word, isn't it? Swell!' Charity Burbage was like Arthur Weasley would be, had someone given him a huge dose of cocaine and a room full of Muggle stuff.

Hermione snorted at the thought.

And then a very towel-clad Narcissa Malfoy emerged from the bathroom and Hermione sauntered towards her and whispered 'Is she always like that?'

'How would I know? I could hear her shrieking nonsense in the bathroom.' the woman rolled her eyes.

'I guess it's time.' Hermione muttered.

'Time?'

'Well make her sleep or I'll strangle her.'

Narcissa emitted a very unladylike noise; she snorted and carefully pointed her wand at Charity Burbage who was gawking, eyes wide open, at the TV. Which was still off. Hermione heard an incantation, the spell moved pass her and she watched her former teacher collapse. 'Levicorpus!' Narcissa guided the floating body and tossed it on a bed. 'Much better.' the woman finished the spell and send Hermione a very smug look.

'You have my eternal gratitude, Lady Malfoy.' she smiled at the blonde.

'Narcissa.'

'Excuse me?' she was on her way to the bathroom and turned around, eyebrow shooting sky level.

'It's Narcissa. Since we're in that mess, I think formalities are to be cast away.'

'I- erm. Please call me Hermione then.'

'Of course. Goodnight, Hermione.' with that the Lady Malfoy collapsed into a bed.

Still perplexed, Hermione took a shower, emerged dressed in a towel and then stole Narcissa's wand.

She checked the wards Snape put up, added her own and restrengthened those she found weak. And with that she returned the wand to its owner and flung herself onto the last bed.

Well, this was quite a roller coaster ride, she thought groggily.

Tanks advancing. City with its skyscrapers shooting into the sky; low grayish clouds and air thick with humidity. Brooms that jerk slightly; they are up and above, looking at what looks like an invasion on Lyon. Fleur beside her, Gabrielle, still very young and so pretty, closes her eyes; she sits behind her sister, arms tightly around her waist.

'What's happening?' Harry is asking, pointing at those tanks.

'There's a huge Wizarding district in Lyon, the Les Perdues.' Fleurs explains and she cuts in, hair damp and goosebumps on her arms.

'The Lost Ones?' she asks, the know-it-all once again making her appearance.

Fleur merely nods 'The Muggles cut it off.'

'A ghetto.' she murmurs but whatever she was trying to say next is cut off by an explosion. Now they see them, high above them, smooth and shiny and so lovely and they begin raining death at Les Perdues.

Fire from the sky.

'NAPALM!' she hears herself scream and they watch it burn and explode and the tanks move in and they also fire, now the city - a part of it - is dying in hell of fire and explosion.

Gabrielle weeps and so do they, she can feel her own tears on her cheeks, almost alien in sensation.

Helpless and hopeless they watch as thousands of their own die.

And she was awake and her heart was about to rip its way out of her chest, so she sat abruptly and fought to control her breathing. She could not sleep so she left her bed and walked towards the doors, nausea hitting in. Instead of going outside the room, she fled to the bathroom, and threw herself on her knees beside the toilet; she tried to throw up but spat only saliva, oddly thick and sticky.

Someone entered the bathroom, she wiped her lips in a furious gesture, someone turned the lights on and she blinked, blinded and still feeling very sick.

'Are you all right?' it was a woman's voice, a soprano she knew.

'Dreams.' she muttered back at Narcissa Malfoy.

'I'd figured. Something about the future?'

'Yes.'

'Bad?' the question sounded almost like a statement and Hermione simply nodded at that.

'We will fight to change it.' the voice of Narcissa was almost iron in its firmness 'And it will become merely a dream. Nothing more.'

'The people in my timeline'- she tried to voice her - whatever she actually was feeling at the moment.

'-we are those people.' the blonde cut in, almost sternly 'Your mourn our future selves.'

She blinked, confounded by the truth of the statement.

'It must feel like madness.' Narcissa Malfoy voiced Hermione's thoughts 'And it must be crazy to be almost split between times and worlds.'

She sat on the floor and stared at the woman, trying to understand what she had just said.

'I do not know how to voice that.' the blonde admitted almost apologetically 'But I think you grasp the meaning. Even if it's only based on intuition.'

'Sort of.' she said and heard the hoarse harshness of her voice almost unlike her own 'Now I know what Dumbledore meant by talking to me in my third year about the risk of going insane with time traveling.'

'Come one, Hermione. Get up.' Narcissa bend over and offered her a hand which she tightly grasped. The blonde was much stronger than she looked and pulled her firmly upwards.

They stood in the bathroom, almost embarrassed with each other and then there was a soft knock on the door. Narcissa pulled out her wand immediately and they made their way towards the sound.

Hermione opened the door cautiously. Snape was standing outside, his expression sour as if he had eaten a lemon.

'I have to get back.' Snape spoke out from the shadows.

'What do you mean?' she rubbed her eyes, suddenly groggy.

'He does not know I am with you. He thinks I have gone home to perform several tasks I told him were important. Now he's summoning me.'

'Severus, you know it's not safe.' she whispered, springing into full wakefulness.

'I know.' he said icily 'But do not be a fool, girl. I know the risks, but you need someone on the inside.'

'You want to spy for us?' she found it incredible and yet somehow natural.

'I think we might stand a chance. But we need to keep our head level. Do not act like your heart-on-his-sleeve friend, girl. We are at war and the odds are extremely high, judging from what you have told us.'

'You're right.' she nodded 'I trust your judgement. Just be careful. Very careful.'

'Severus?' Narcissa finally spoke out, her voice soft and bordering on pleading 'Please, find a way to bring my husband and my sister-' she cut off and Hermione saw a slender finger touch an eyelid, almost as if the woman had just wiped a tear away.

'I know. I understand.' the Potion Master spoke softly 'I know.' he repeated 'I will try.'

'Swear on it. Just like you swore with Draco.' the blonde was now commanding and the raven haired man nodded.

'I swear. Shall we make another Unbreakable Vow?'

'No. I trust your word.' there was something, some history between those two and Hermione would not be her smart self if the jigsaw had not fallen into one piece within few heartbeats.

Snape had made an Unbreakable Vow about aiding Draco in his quest to assassinate Dumbledore.

'Fine.' the answer was cool and soft and spoken with such firmness it sounded like a grave promise 'Goodbye, Hermione Granger. Goodbye, Narcissa.' with that he turned around and disapparated.

They went for a breakfast to a different diner. Actually, it was not really a diner, but merely a bar beside a petrol station. Both Draco and Narcissa were staring at the cars with almost nervous air about them, and Charity Burbage was once again annoyingly agitated, staring at things and rambling at random about how lovely the Muggle world had been.

It happened while she was eating a pancake - and a bad one at that - when she realized that Burbage must have suffered a severe shock a Malfoy manor. She gawked at the woman, who was staring at a TV set that was hung above the bar with mouth agape, and knew that-

'-She's gone insane that night.' Narcissa, who was sat beside her, leaned in and cut in her train of thoughts.

Hermione swallowed hastily before answering.

'I was just thinking that.' she nodded, her throat a little sore from swallowing too much at one time. She took a sip of her orange juice, hoping it would soothe the sore.

'What do we do about it?' the blonde demanded and Hermione had to admit she had no idea. The she excused herself and walked out of the bar.

She took to smoking. It was very Muggle and very reassuring. In their apocalyptic world, it was one of the rare pleasures remaining. She leaned now against the diner wall, pulled a fresh pack of Marlboro Red and extracted a cigarette. She lighted its tip and inhaled, the smoke that penetrated her body felt at first like a fist to the stomach, making the whole world spin, but the second and the next ones were pure pleasure. Her senses sharpened, she could feel the steady thud of her heart.

'What's that?' Draco emerged from the diner, squinting his eyes against blazing sunlight.

'It's a cigarette.'

'It's Muggle, eh?' he was visibly interested.

'Yeah. Wanna try?' she offered him the pack and he hesitated.

'Yeah.' he took his first puff and choked, tears welling in his eyes 'Merlin's balls! It's abhorrent.'

'First times are always rough.' she sent him a small smile and he spluttered on. But Draco never tossed the cigarette away. Instead, he tried second time and it must have felt better, because he shot her an amused look.

'Speaking of those. I hook up with Ginny' the uttered the girl's name with something that resembled both horror and amusement 'What about you? The weasel?'

'Nope.'

'Do you? I mean, do you hook up at all then?' he was staring at her, his cheeks slightly flushed and those pearl blond hair disheveled in a very un-Malfoy way.

'Yeah.'

'Well, who is that?'

'It' Harry. Harry Potter.' she spoke after a moment's hesitation.

'Oh. I'd always thought it would be-'

'-Ron' she cut off 'I did too. But then everything's changed. We changed.' she sighed.

'Blimey.' he was being very un-Malfoy, standing by the diner, so close to her, smoking a Muggle cigarette and squinting his eyes against the sun 'Blimey' he repeated hoarsely 'So the moment we catch up with them-?' he never finished what he was saying and chose to clear his throat instead.

'Draco' she looked him in the eye 'I'm in love with a man who's twenty one, who has haunted eyes and who's learnt to compartmentalize the hard way. This man, should we succeed, will never be.'

'Oh. Oh.' he nodded. 'That's sad.'

'Yeah, well, nobody said it's a happy tale.'

'But maybe, you know' he was obviously trying to cheer her up 'you'll be able to love him in the future? Not right now, but maybe in couple of years, he'll be like the man you fell in love with.'

'I'd rather not have him undergo all that.'

'What do you mean?' he was looking wary now, as if treading on dangerous territory.

'He's suffered a lot. That's what forged him into the man he is in my timeline. I am egoistic, of course.' she finished her cigarette 'But not to that extant. If you're finished, come on, we gotta get back in before your mother starts worrying I'm trying to woo you.'

He snorted and threw the cigarette on the ground.

'That would be a shit storm.' Draco Malfoy spoke out and she turned to stare at him, bemused, and saw his very perplexed expression.

'Oh my.' he said in a very small voice 'You're influencing me!'

They spend the entire day planning. Finally Narcissa came up with a very smart solution. Since Nelly was hers and only hers, she would not answer to any master beside Narcissa and therefore would rather die than betray her. The elf would be summoned to the motel and send back to the mansion to find the whereabouts of Ollivander and the security that would remain in the manor. Then, once the Death Eaters left, the elf would come back for them and side-along-apparate them into Ollivander's cell. They would free him and apparate back to the motel. It was smart and simple and sounded almost fool-proof.

The elf apparated with a loud pop, listened to the order, eyes brimming with joy and pride and then was gone. They sat in Draco's room - as in Hermione's and Narcissa's Charity Burbage was watching television and squealing with excitement all the time, making it unbearable for anyone to spend there more time than five minutes - and chatted idly about random topics. It felt almost homely, Hermione thought, the banter between two Malfoys was both funny and smart, with occasional side remarks and snorts of laughter. As time went, however, the tension grew. It was almost dark, when the elf returned, looking as sour as an elf could.

They learned that Lucius was held prisoner as well, the Dark Git considering him a traitor. Bellatrix and her husband were also ordered to remain in the manor; she was furious to the point of a temper tantrum while her husband was on the verge of crucioing the lot to oblivion. He held guard by Lucius' room, while Bellatrix was roaming the entire mansion.

The elf disapparated once again and they had to change the plan.

'We must save Lucius.' Narcissa stated firmly, her eyes set on Hermione with icy defiance.

'I know.' she said, exasperated and angry herself 'But not tonight.'

'He will have him killed!' Narcissa's voice was now venomous.

'There is the risk, yes.' she admitted and then snapped 'But I doubt your husband will be willing to cooperate with us, if we kidnap him. He needs to come round at his own volition.'

'I refuse to take chances when it comes to my family!' Narcissa growled at her, eyes furious and mouth set in a very thin and very pale line.

'I get that!' she sighed and ran a trembling hand through her hair 'I really do, but-'

'-either we get him out as well, or we abort the mission!' the blonde snapped as well and stood up.

'What about Lestranges?' Hermione stood up as well 'Won't they be considered traitors as well? Do you want to kidnap them as well? How we're going to restrain them? Or maybe we should imperio them into obedience?'

'Excuse me' a very demure Draco cut in, following in their wake and getting up from his chair.

The two women turned and glared at him. He did not back down though.

'I have an idea.' he said and his voice was level.

'OK. Well?' she inhaled deeply, trying to regain her calm.

'We apparate in Ollivander's cell. The elf and Ollivander apparate back here. Hermione and I wait. Hermione, you take Mother's wand. Sorry' he added hastily 'But this will be nasty and I know you won't like it when we go after aunt Bellatrix.'

'Go after my sister? Have you lost your mind?' Narcissa nearly screamed at her son but he once again stood his ground 'It's like Hermione had said. We can't kidnap all of them and imperio is not an option. But if they are unscathed and the prisoners are free, he will kill them.' his eyes sought Hermione's and she nodded at the boy with a small smile.

'We have a scuffle with them.' she said to Draco 'But first we get your father out. We'll bind him and stun him and whatever else, and have Nelly apparate him here. But-' she cut off and scratched her nose 'your Mother will be without her wand. And I'm quite sure that your Father had been disarmed as well.'

'Yes.' he admitted dejectedly.

'Should we run into some trouble, the charms may worn off. Your father might attack your mother. Even wandless-'

'-he does have a chance of overpowering her.' he finished, lowering his head.

And then it hit her. 'Give me your wand. Now.' she added hastily and almost snatched the wand from his hand 'I'll be back in no time.' with that, she disapparated from the room.

The sensation was awful as always, but now, having not apparated in years, she reveled in it. With a grim grin she thought that she had to be the only witch in the entire world who enjoyed the feeling of being squashed into a tube.

With a pop she reappeared in a store magazine. She was back in London, in a place that had served as a safe house (back? in the future?) in the second half of 1999. Before the Muggle War, however, the place used to be a very Muggle sex shop.

She didn't even bother to search it. She simply put a confounding charm at the magazine doors, making sure that one would enter it and spoke out in the dark 'Accio handcuffs.' A box flew into her outstretched hands, with a force that almost made her drop it, then she turned on the spot and returned to the motel room.

Two very sour Malfoys glared at her. And then their fell on the box and Draco blushed and Narcissa opened her mouth with a small, strangled sound.

Well of course. The handcuffs she accioed had had to be covered with pink fur on the bindings.

'Sorry.' she muttered 'But you can use them to bind your husband.'

'To a bed.' Draco added under his breath but he was too loud and the two women stared at him, Hermione amused and Narcissa scandalized.

'Rrrright!' she spoke briskly 'Back to the plotting. Nelly takes Mr. Malfoy here. We wait inside his room. The elf returns for us. It takes me first and leads me straight to Bellatrix. I fight her and Nelly goes for Draco. Who attacks Rodolphus.'

'Rodolphus is too powerful for Draco!' Narcissa exclaimed, worry pooling her blue eyes.

'Maybe. But Draco will have an element of surprise. Just stun him and then jinx him a couple of times so that it does look like a fight and not a surprise attack.'

He nodded.

'Then we rendez vous in the dining hall. I take Bellatrix' wand and you Rodolphus. Nelly takes us back here.' she finished. 'Are we ready to rock and roll?'

Two pairs of surprised eyes bore into her.

'Well' she coughed delicately 'are we ready to roll?'

'Yeah. Whatever.' Draco smiled feebly, his expression bordering on surprised and bemused.

It went smoothly. The two of them and the elf materialized in a very dark and very murky dungeon, much like the one she had spend some time in after the lovely chat with Bellatrix.

Ollivander was huddled in the corner, his eyes huge and gaunt. Not bothering with a 'hello', Hermione first silenced him with her wand and then undid his bindings and the elf grabbed the man. With a pop they were gone.

'I'm in a dungeon at my own house.' Draco breathed in her ear, his discomfort very pronounced.

She grabbed his arm instead of answering. They waited.

It seemed like a couple of hours and she was begging to fret - but it were mere seconds - when the elf appeared again. Once more they grabbed the little creatures arms and re-materialized in a room.

They were in for a nasty surprise.

Before either managed to regain their footing, Lucius Malfoy bellowed loudly and the door sprang open; Rodolphus with his wand ready leaped into the room and send a stunner at Draco. It hit him straight in the head, without a sound he was send backwards, straight into his father. The two of them collapsed into a heap on the floor.

'Get them out!' she yelled at the elf.

Two things happen. Nelly grabbed the two of men and was about to disapparate and Rodolphus send an avada their way.

It was just the same way as it was with Dobby, the only difference being that this time it was the killing curse and not Bellatrix's knife. The elf - just as Dobby had managed to - disapparated with the two men, the curse sucked into the vacuum of apparition.

Hermione sent the slicing jinx at Rodolphus, he managed to counter it and yelled 'ATTACK!' He threw an avada her way and she leaped forwards, avoiding the curse by inches.

The protective quality of her vest had worn off due to Voldemort's dozens of avada that struck her. She had realized this earlier that day, while dressing up after her morning shower. The material felt odd, so she had nicked Narcissa's wand for few minutes and performed with tests. It would work against the killing curse no more.

Trust it to Voldemort, to destroy a magnificent invention in a fit of blind range.

Rudolphus was now firing avadas her way in what seemed like a fury. She barely managed to take cover, the green flashes flying all around the room. She took cover behind an over-toppled armchair and pulled out her gun. Wand in her right hand, a Beretta in her left, Hermione gritted her teeth and did something she really hated.

She simultaneously send an avada his way and pulled the trigger.

The impact nearly threw her against the wall.

Rodolphus, being a dumb wizard, was concerned with the killing curse and ignored the bullet. He threw himself left, the curse avoided his head by inches and-

-and the bullet smashed straight into his head, which, conveniently, exploded.

The gory mess hit the sprinting Bellatrix in the face.

Temporary blinded with her husband's brain's remains, she toppled and Hermione struck her with stupefy.

'Fuck!' she breathed as she straightened herself up.

Rodolphus' fit had left the room in shambles. The furniture was damaged, there war holes in the wall and the chandelier hung in a very lopsided way.

Suddenly there was a blaring noise that made her jump and look around. It had to be an alarm of sorts, she realized grimly.

It meant she had only minutes - if not less - to act.

Hermione hit Bellatrix with additional jinxes. Binding her body and incarcerating her with magical ropes, she hesitated, scratching her nose. It did not seem very convenient. Rodolphus was killed and Bellatrix simply stunned and bounded. The Dark Git was no fool and his paranoia only complicated the situation. Had Hermione been in his place, she too would wonder why one Death Eater was killed and the other only incapacitated temporarily.

'Fuck.' she repeated and chewed on her lower lip. 'She removed all the spells from Bellatrix, undoing every jinx except for the stunner. 'Sorry, Narcissa' she muttered in space and hit the witch a very halfhearted sectumsempra.

She made sure the spell only maimed her left shoulder and that the wounds were not deep enough to have the Death Eater bleed to death.

She left the room with a quick glance at the bleeding woman and then she undid the stunner. For Narcissa's sake she hoped that someone would arrive in no time. She cursed at the situation, accioed their wands and run at tremendous speed towards the exit. She had just reached the gates - and the border of the anti-apparition jinx - when she saw them, the Death Eaters rushing back.

Someone screamed at her, a creature of deep smoke slowly unraveling, it was Dolohov, she realized in a heartbeat, and send an avada her way. She was already out of the anti-apparition zone, the spell missing her narrowly, she turned on the spot and fled the scene.

First the apparition brought her to the outskirts of a small Muggle town in the middle of moors. The she apparated again, chosing a spot about hundred kilometers away.

They would track her. If she apparated back into the motel, they might have followed her. Before their departure Narcissa had told her about protective spells on Bellatrix's wand. The Dark Git had placed an enchantment on it, making sure that whenever someone used magic while in possession of her wand, he would be able to trace its location. Hermione was not overly sure whether in possession meant either the usage of the object or simply holding it. She would not risk exposure, so she made some erratic apparition cross-country and then settled on a town not so far away from the one they were staying in.

Hoping Ollivander would be able to remove that blasted enchantment, Hermione Granger did a very unlike this-timeline-Hermione thing and crept into a parking lot feeling like a burglar. She chose her car, a black BMW which had seen its better days couple of decades ago and set to work.

She would not use magic in case the Git's tracing spell would kick in, so she set for standard Muggle car-robbing technique.

Soon she was sitting behind the wheel, engine roaring from underneath the hood and radio blasting some vicious heavy metal tones (the moment she turned the engine, the music blared and she almost leaped out of the car, thinking TANKS!) and driving in what was rather speed-limit-exceeding way towards the motel.

She parked, feeling dizzy (for some reason the radio would not be turned off; it took her about an hour to realized it's been broken into never turning off and she curse the odds) with the obnoxious howls and drumming that accompanied her nice drive for the last three hours. She climbed the stairs and knocked at the doors.

A pale-white, huge-eyed Narcissa peered at her through a small hole.

'How did you enjoy your breakfast?' the blonde muttered, catching her off guard.

Oh, she thought.

'It was god-awful.' she stammered back and Narcissa opened the door, letting her step into the room.

Something smashed into her. Before she managed to react, she found herself being hugged by both Narcissa and Draco.

'We thought you were dead!' he exclaimed, bordering on tearing up.

'How's Bella?' Narcissa breathed into her ear.

'I-I' she stepped back from their embrace and saw the blonde's eyes growing huge with worry 'No!' she said hastily 'I didn't- I'd never! I just wounded her, Narcissa. She'll be all right, the rest of them just got into the manor when I was leaving. They'll heal her.' the words falling from her mouth felt like hemorrhage 'It's Rodolphus that won't make it. I'm sorry, real sorry, but I had to.'

'Don't worry. Rod was a bastard.' Narcissa's voice was very firm 'And Bella never cared for him much, either.'

'Yes' Draco's eyes were wide as saucers 'Uncle Rod was a slimy git.'

'Tell us. How did you manage?' Narcissa's voice faltered as she took in her Hermione's appearance.

It was then that she realized she had to look like mess.

She smiled at the two Malfoys.

'I'll tell you everything, but first I need to speak to Mr. Ollivander about the wand.'

As he worked on removing the enchantments - they had warded his workplace with all the spells they could think of - she told them the full story. She watched their eyes grow at her descriptions and could not feel slightly proud of her actions. It was Draco who finally spoke out and his voice was laden with admiration.

Then the two of them walked down to share a cigarette and watched the spectacle of rising sun.

She slept the whole day and when she woke up at dusk, Ollivander had the wand ready for her. Fighting her discomfort, she took Bellatrix's wand, claiming it her own. They had a dinner in the bar beside petrol station and their moods were soaring sky high. Gagged and bound, Lucius Malfoy was still as unrepentant as one could possibly be.

It was late night, when Snape showed up, face grim and angry.

'The fool' he snarled 'he ignored your warning and upon the discovery of Lucius' and Ollivander's flight, he went ahead of himself just moments ago and attack Little Whining.'

'Oh hell.' she breathed 'Has anyone been caught?'

If Snape's expression could grow any sourer earlier, it was now a mask of fury mixed with disgust an utmost frustration.

'Bellatrix's been caught.' he growled at them.


	6. Flight of The Valkyrie

Luck was no lady. Luck was a bitch from hell.

Not only had they buried the elf in a bloody dumpster, having transfigured its body into a bloody bone, much to everybody's dismay (Hermione forcibly reminded by this of Barty Crouch Junior's tale, the one Harry had shared with her with a very sick look on his face), now they were forced to face the kidnapping of Bellatrix Fucking Lestrange.

First she merely snapped at Snape, thinking that either she was lucid or the Potion Master high, but upon hearing the man's story about how Bellatrix fucking Lestrange had been found bleeding profusely and mended by a very annoyed Snape, she gave up and slumped into a chair.

He told them of The Dark Git's pronounced shit fit which ended up with Bellatrix fucking Lestrange being crucioed to the very brink of death and Bellatrix fucking Lestrange's hasting to join in Muggle bashing in, what she probably had perceived it as, an act of expiation for her misdeeds. The Death Eaters was barely standing and throwing hexes and jinxes all around the place, screeching insults on top of her lungs, cackling at running Muggles, trying desperately to prove her undying devotion to the Git, using somebody else's wand to quite not-so-magnificent effects simultaneously.

All that jinxing and screaming and general making spectacle of herself had resulted with Bellatrix fucking Lestrange getting shot.

By a Muggle policeman.

And Hermione Granger found herself planning a rescue mission.

So they did the only thing that seemed reasonable. Snape departed for the Manor, Charity was once again locked in the room with Ollivander (who was eyeing the woman with growing uneasiness in his silvery eyes) and the trio apparated straight to Little Whining.

Good thing was that the Death Eaters had departed. Bad thing was that the entire area had been cut off by police, S.W.A.T. teams and fire fighters. Several houses (and Hermione thought it was a good thing, since those houses were very hideous indeed and whoever owned them, should feel very lucky to receive the insurance money and purchase something nicer) were aflame, a car or two had exploded and ambulances had already taken the victims in. The general mayhem was in full sway, however, and moments after their arrival, the press showed up.

Draco Malfoy, being a smart man after all, had the impulse to grab their broomstick upon their departure. Hermione used Bellatrix's wand to cast invisibility spells on the three of them.

'Just don't run into someone.' she told the Malfoys, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

She could still remember the - well, quite pretty - witch straddling her many years back, forcing a wand to her chest and crucioing her relentlessly. And the scar on her forearm was still intact; Bellatrix's departing gift became a nuisance later on, when people she shared closed quarters with began asking questions and Hermione found herself at the time thinking about erasing either their memories - or her own.

The merry trio made their way into the town, treading carefully around other people, prying for information.

Narcissa got lucky. She crept up a policeman, a skinny man with ginger mustache, who was telling his buddy about a lunatic who had been brandishing a stick at his mate, Dewie, just when the terrorists had struck. Thinking that she had a gun, Dewie shot the woman, realizing seconds later that she was holding a stick.

Narcissa waited for the policeman's friend to depart, and then, gentle as always, imperioed the man and led him to Hermione.

Upon hearing Narcissa's tale, Hermione began giggling. They kidnapped the policeman outside the town, not too far away, but conveniently enough. His name was Robbie Folsom, he was thirty, married and his wife was expecting a second child. Robbie hoped for a daughter this time.

No, Robbie had no clue where the lunatic had been taken, but the closest hospital was just thirty kilometers away. Yes, Robbie had an inkling that Dewie was taken for questioning to the police station next town. Which was the opposite direction from the hospital.

Hermione earesed Robbie's memory, making him think that he walked out of the town on his own volition, investigating something that he considered my prove a clue. The clue, sadly, turned out to be a wounded animal, most likely one of the residents' dog, who took off into the woods which surrounded the town.

Hermione was torn. Had there been another Muggle-born with them, everything would be easier. Instead, she was stuck with two pure-bloods, who had absolutely no clue how to tread in the Muggle world. Finally, she decided to send Narcissa and Draco to the police station, hoping that the first one's composure would overrule the latter's eagerness. She forbade them talking to the Muggles. They were to stay invisible, find Dewie (she had prayed they would not trigger any alarms on their way) and just listen in.

And then she told them to stay hidden and sneaked back to town. There were many gawkers at the scene now. The terrorist attack area had become something of a local attraction. Without any difficulty, she liberated two cell phones and hasted back to the Malfoys.

Time was working against them, so she gritted her teeth as she tried to explain to the pure-bloods how to use the phone. Finally Draco grasped the concept of answering a call, making one, and setting the phone to mute. They figured each other's number and edited the contact's name. While she set Draco's number to, well, Draco, she saw him change hers to Badass.

They were to call if they found something out. And she promised to call if she found Bellatrix.

Had both trails proven false, they would rendez vous at the parking lot of their motel.

She flew with as much speed as possible, putting the broom through its paces. Some time later (she stoutly refused to check the time), she landed on the rooftop of a giant building, considered transforming her broom into something else but set on shrinking it so that she could hide in her pocket and magicked the trapdoor that led inside open. She kept her fingers crossed that the invisibility charm was still on and she was not caught on any surveillance tapes, she moved through the hospital, trying to be fast and efficient.

She knew what she was looking for - and this was another advantage of being Muggle-born. The Intensive Care Unit was on the fifth floor. Here she encountered an obstacle, which manifested itself in bullet-proof doors that would open only if one used an ID card. Magicking it open was not an option, a secure door opening by itself would be quite a sight. Hoping that someone would come this way soon, she leaned against the wall and waited.

Hermione Granger had been many things but never patient. She run through a dozen of solutions, trying to find the best one. Just in time when she was considering impersonating personnel, she saw a group that made her heart beat faster.

There were three of them. Men with sullen faces, clad in gray suits.

They stopped by the door and one of them turned and looked right at her.

For one awful second Hermione was pretty sure she had been just exposed.

But then his gaze slipped away and a click of hills drew closer. She turned wildly, for seconds thinking she was hearing Bellatrix, but saw a very young and rather annoyed looking doctor rush their way.

She opened the door with her ID cared and glared at the agents with resentment.

Hermione took no chances and followed them sharply. She was not very careful, though, and - while walking through the door - almost crashed into the good doctor. The woman looked around with a very puzzled expression on her face.

'Somethin' wrong?' one of the men barked in a thick voice.

'I'm fine. Long shift.' the doctor shrugged her shoulders and Hermione could have kissed her with relief.

'Which room, miss?' the man inquired and the doctor pouted.

'Five o two. But I really don't-' but the men rushed past her and so Hermione followed in their wake.

They pulled sharply to a halt and one of the men opened the door which led to room five o two. Hermione tiptoed behind them and tried to steal a glance.

The room, much to her dismay, was empty.

'I don't really understand why was my patient, an Intense Care Unit patient at that, taken five minutes ago.' the doctor demanded angrily.

'She's a dangerous criminal, miss.' the man who spoke first, barked at her.

'She's wounded!' the doctor exclaimed angrily.

'Search the room.' the man ordered 'Sorry miss, you gotta leave now.'

The doctor huffed and puffed and glared but in the end, she stalked off, cursing under her breath.

Hermione was torn. In the end, she made up her mind and ran after the doctor. 'Imperio.' she breather, pointing Bellatrix's wand at the woman, who now looked around with a very confused expression on her face.

'You want to go to the bathroom. You need to pee, real bad.' she whispered to the doctor 'I'm not hear. There's no one talking to you.' she added hastily and watched the doctor speed towards pointed destination. With once glance at room five o two, Hermione made sure the agents had not left yet, and followed the doctor.

She was peeing in one of the stalls. Apart from the two of them, the bathroom was mercifully empty. Slightly embarrassed, Hermione magicked the stall doors opened and sauntered inside, closing the doors behind.

'Whisper.' she breathed the woman, who nodded, her pants and panties down.

Hermione gulped, the situation was absolutely not comfortable. Not to mention the fact that the stall was very small and maneuvering around it without too much body contact, was tricky.

'Who took the woman from five o two?'

'Five men in gray suits.'

'When?'

'Ten-fifteen minutes ago?'

'Where?'

'I don't know.'

'Any idea?'

'No.'

'Not the police?'

'Absolutely.'

'What was her condition? The woman's?'

'Stable. We've just extracted the bullet and sewn the wound. Flesh wound, the bullet went into her upper left arm, but without damaging the bone structure-' the doctor was about give her a full medical report and Hermione had no time, so she just ordered her to shut up.

'Was she conscious?'

'No, we knocked her out with-'

'Thank you. Now' Hermione was thinking very fast 'go about your regular duties. This conversation never took place. You simply went to use the loo. And got caught up in your thoughts. Nothing serious.'

With that, feeling she should feel at least a pang of guilt over taking someone's free will, Hermione run out of the bathroom. She was just in time, the grey suits were about to leave the ward. Cursing under her breath, she flipped her wand. One of the grey suits, slipped on tiled floor and came crashing down. His partners stopped and looked around warily, but nothing seemed out of place.

She used the commotion to run up. She followed the grey suits out of the ward and out of the building. She waited until they got in their car and re-sized her broom. Already in the air and following the car, she pulled her new cell phone out of the jacket's front pocket and, one hand on the handle, she called Draco.

He picked up after her third attempt.

'Sorry' he mumbled, his voice oddly distorted 'I never... devilish thing... -well?'

'Draco! I can barely hear you! Is your phone upside down?'

'...second...' he murmured and then his voice came much clearer 'Better?'

'Much. I'm following the men who took your aunt!'

'Where are you? We got nothing.' Draco's voice was now filled with excitement.

She told him their approximate location. As for the time being, and unless she was severely mistaken, they were headed north-west, following a road (she lowered her broom low enough to read the sign) leading in the direction of Aberystwyth.

The next town would be Talgarth. The Malfoys would apparate there.

Then she ended her call and focused solely on the car she was pursuing.

Soon enough they passed Talgarth and she heard a wooshing noise and Malfoys joined her in mid-air.

'Is she in that thing?' Narcissa yelled at her, pointing at the car.

'No!'

'Why are we following it then?!'

'Because someone took Bellatrix before my arrival and those guys, well, I think so, work together!'

'It could be a false trail!' the blonde screamed in frustration.

'Do you have a better idea?!' Hermione shot back, furious and cold and impatient to do something.

'She's right!' Draco piped in, flying steadily on Hermione's left 'It's either this or head home!'

'Fine!' Narcissa snarled 'Perfect!'

They were following River Wye now and the air grew cold and damp. Hermione shievered under her jacket. The moon rose in the sky, it was ghostly pale and illuminating the area in silvery light. She felt very eerie, flying in silence, her two companions now basking in moonlight on both her sides, Draco slightly above them and his hair almost luminescent, the invisibility charm long time ago having worn off. She felt as if she was flying outside of time, basking in some shredded light of eternal moon; she was almost timeless, a specter that traveled through epochs, never in one place, never attached to anything, merely a mute witness to the clash of centuries, leaving them behind in her wake.

Hermione Granger pondered, whether the gods of Olympus she like reading about as a little girl, had they existed, also would have that feeling of timelessness as they watched the humans from their mighty mountain. It was very lonely though.

And then they flew over Llanelwedd, and even further on, over Rhayader and even further and further on and the three of them were now stiff and rigid upon their broomsticks. And then the car they were following turned away from the main road and now they were flying even deeper into the country and that shook Hermione out of her stupor, she saw a huge body of water ahead, the moonlight caressing it almost blindingly, she pulled her phone out and turned the GPS on and saw that the body of water was called Nant-y-Moch Reservoir.

Completely bemused, Hermione almost missed the car stopping many feet below them. She froze in mid air and began her descent, slow, steady and in circles. The car had been parked in the middle of nowhere, Hermione thought, her senses kicking in. Hastily she cast the invisibility charm over herself and flew even closer down, now she was merely a foot above the men. They got out of the car, one of them was smoking, the other checked his watch.

'Here goes.' the man with the watch spoke out and suddenly she heard it; the noise of an oncoming chopper filled the night. She turned to check on the two Malfoys and saw their uneasiness.

Praying they would not make a noise, Hermione crouched on her broom. Soon she saw it; two bright lights cutting the darkness; a bird of iron lowered its fat body and landed on a field. She looked up to check on the Malfoys but the sky was blank. Panic seized her and she was about to do something stupid, but then swallowed her yell and waited.

The men got into the chopper and the machine took off.

The Malfoys appeared once again, Draco's face pulled in an almost pained expression.

'What was that?' he asked her, desperation coloring his voice.

And in this second she knew and understood. He was afraid. It was merely a glimpse of the Muggle world he had just seen, but it terrified him nonetheless.

'A Muggle broom of sorts.' she answered, trying to sound reassuring 'Nothing dreadful. We must follow it.'

Narcissa said nothing and just turned her broom in its direction. Hermione, however, saw the bitter grim on her face and her chest felt heavy.

It seemed like the Malfoys for the first time had seen how the Muggle War would look, had it come to pass.

Now they were flying along the coastline, moving steadily north. Hermione lost track of time. The moon had paled and sky grew pink on the east. She saw a city ahead and her stomach churned as the chopper came to land some kilometers before it.

She knew where they were. The city she was seeing was Liverpool.

They followed a black van into the city. Morning rush had set in and vehicle was slowly making its way through the city. Invisible Malfoys were, at least thus she hoped, flying alongside her, their mouths probably agape.

The the first calamity struck. The van turned to the bypass. The traffic was also heavy there, but the cars were moving very fast. Had she not been used to such situations, she would have lost the van in an instant. Now, however, she simply leaned over the broom handle and shot like a javeline; following the car from close above.

Then the second calamity struck and this one manifested itself in a very low tunnel ahead. Hermioned cursed under her breath, unsure what to do. There was no option for her to follow the car from above - there was simply no room enough. She could try and fly above the tunnel but then she would probably lose the car. Third option was suicidal: follow the car behind. Sooner or later some Muggle who would not see her, would try and shorten the distance between their car and van - and would hit her.

The fourth option was the one she decided to follow, cursing herself for stupidity at the same time.

She jumped off the broom, and being inches above the car, she nearly made no noise. She landed on its roof, lied down immediately, her hand holding to a plastic rail that run along its side for dear life, with the other hand she held her wand, accioed and shrunk her broom - and that was all she could do, before she ended in the tunnel, the sheer speed nearly pushing her off the bloody van. Pushing the portable now broom into her pocket, she ushered her wand into one as well, and grabbed the rail on the other side of the roof. Now she was sort of crucified on the car.

The third calamity struck when they emerged from the tunnel; the van turned rather rapidly, having moved across three lanes at the process and drove off the road and into an underground parking lot. Hermione, still holding for dear life, cursed her rashness.

They drove many levels underground before they came to halt. She waited, breath held, for the men to get out of the car and then, trying to be as quiet as possible, slid off the roof as well. Her feet contracted with the ground with a soft thud at which the men turned round.

With guns in their hands.

Praying the spell was still working, Hermione froze.

They looked around cautiously and then one of them, the one - she realized - who checked the time many light years ago - shrugged and put the gun away, the rest following in his wake. She tiptoed behind them, trying to speculate their location; it seemed as this was a parking lot for some medical facility, with few ambulances parked randomly. There was a set of bulletproof doors ahead, one of the men used his ID card and the doors opened with a soft crack. Hermione followed them closely, now they were in a corridor that looked like a waiting room in a cheap public hospital, with milky-coffee colored walls and gray tiles on the floor. There were doors on the both sides, the men, however, were pushing forward.

She followed them into a lift, holding her breath as she did. She felt sweat bead her forehead. If somebody moved, she would definitely expose herself. The lift took them even further down; Hermione, since she was the one closest to the doors, walked out first. The area no longer resembled a hospital. Now they were in a bunker of sorts, with wall of stone and narrow corridor ahead. She pushed her back against the wall and let the gray coats move past her.

Then they stopped before wooden doors. One of them knocked. A woman in a gray pencil skirts and boring jacket opened the door for them and ushered them in, invisible Hermione in their wake.

There was a Venetian mirror on the wall opposite the doors, a desk and few chairs.

Hermione, holding her breath, tiptoed to the mirror and -

\- yes! she thought triumphantly.

A very grime and pale Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black was in the adjoining room, a small interrogation chamber; she was sitting beside a desk, a low lamp making a round puddle of bright light, her hands were forced behind - probably cuffed together and bounded to her chair.

Now all she had to do, was find a way in the interrogation room - there were no other doors except for those through which she had entered - and spring the Death Eater out.

Piece of cake.

The gray suits exchanged few unimportant banters with the woman. Apparently, the whole lot was waiting for someone else.

Finally, after what felt like few hours, a fat man with bald head entered the room. The grey suits stood from the chairs and the woman smiled at him.

'Reynolds.' she greeted him in a rather shrill voice 'You're finally here.'

He ignored her completely and looked at the men.

'MacArthur said' he said in rich baritone 'that you have something for me, eh?'

'Sir' the grey suit who checked the time licked his lips, something of a greedy glimmer in his eyes 'I think that Jones' team picked one of them up.'

'Well? Where is Jones?' the bald man, Reynolds, looked around as if half expecting this Jones character to appear out of thin air. Then he sniffed and walked towards the Venetian mirror, squinting his eyes 'All I see is some underfed bitch in a Gothic dress.' he turned around to them 'Explain that.'

'Sir' the grey suit cleared his throat 'Jones at Forensic Division now. This woman' he gestured towards Bellatrix 'is suspected for being an active participant in the incidents of Bellhaven, Little Norway and James Park. There were sightings of her all around United Kingdom, our men have seen her disappear.'

'So you're saying, Quinn, that this one could match the description included in the Clairvoyance Act?'

'Yessir.'

'Are you sure?' Reynolds boomed, closing on the man in somewhat distressing manner.

'Yessir.'

'Fine. Quinn and the rest, leave the room. I'm calling London this instant. Dean?' he addressed the woman who looked at him expectantly 'No one enters this room - unless it's Merigold - and you most definitely do not leave it. Is that clear?'

'Yes.' she nodded curtly.

'The whole place is connected. You're pretty safe.'

'Yes.'

'Come now, the lot of you. Quinn, you get Jones right this second. The rest, go to Threadwill's.' with this notion Reynolds led the entire team outside.

This was it. Waiting for the doors to close, Hermione walked to the woman who was once again sitting by her desk.

'Imperio.' she breathed, trying to be as quiet as possible in case the bugs in the room were good.

'Not a word until I say different.' she added 'Don't move!' she stopped her before the woman nodded.

'Reverso imagum.' the spell should be able to block the bugs as well. Hermione tapped the woman's shoulder tentatively.

'What's your name? You may speak. Only in whisper.'

'Dean, Clementine Dean, junior sergeant-' the woman begun, but Hermione cut her off.

'Clementine Dean what is the Clairvoyance Act?' her curiosity got better of her; she had never heard of such a thing before, it was a shot but it could be a big one.

'The surveillance.' the woman answered as if the word was a piece of sufficient information.

'Extrapolate. But hurry!' Hermione sat on the desk, her knee nuzzling into the woman's side.

'Three years ago the division reported unusual occurrences all around the UK. Soon the CIA and Mossad confirmed that they too had reported such. The Directorate ordered close surveillance. We've connected the dots.'

'And?'

'We have new guidelines.'

'Yes?'

'To obtain those associated with such occurrences. There is a list.'

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

'A list?' she whispered, her lips suddenly very dry. 'Where is it?'

'I don't know. The high officers-'

Hermione once again cut her off 'Who are they and where do I find them?'

'There's Peter Jones here and his boss Jim Reynolds.'

'What about Quinn?'

'Joshua Quinn had no idea what he was talking about. He merely reported what Jones told him to.' she deadpanned.

'Fine. How do I get into this room?' she pointed at the Venetian mirror.

'The mirror is actually the door. But you'll need a pass to open it.'

'Do you have it?'

'No.'

Shit.

'But Merigold does.' the woman was apparently very helpful under Imperius Curse.

'What's Merigold?' she asked immediately.

'Now what but a who. A level six officer, practically the Directorate delegate.'

'Can you call her?'

'Yes I can.'

'Tell her' her mind was pacing at hundred kilometers an hour pace 'that she needs to come here immediately because you've-you've... you've observed something extraordinary and you want her to see it first. Make sure she comes alone.'

'Of course.'

She watched the woman pick the phone up, dial a number and wait. Soon there was answer.

'Officer, you must come down to Cell Block Three. Immediately. No, officer, it's about the captive. Yes m'am. I think you should see it for yourself.'

It was vague enough not to draw suspicion but urgent enough to force its recipient to abandon whatever they were doing and come. Soon enough there was a knock and an angry female voice sounded through the intercom.

A very pretty woman with auburn locks and green eyes charged into the room. She was dressed in a very tight black dress and very high stilettos.

'Well?' she scoffed at Clementine Dean and Hermione sneaked behind her.

'Imperio.'

Oddly enough the woman fought back, her eyes squinted with the effort and lips tightly pursed. Hermione re-cast the spell few times. It took her over five minutes to break her mind.

'Strip.' she ordered coldly and watched the woman remove her jacket, then she started fumbling with her dress, which apparently had zipper on the back. Hermione pointed her wand the zipper moved down by itself, revealing a very pale body. The woman took of her stockings and shoes and then, before she took off either her bra or panties, Hermione told her to stop.

'Make sure no one comes in now.' she ordered Clementine, who nodded eagerly.

Hermione undressed and gave her clothes to Merigold.

'Put on my gear.' she muttered and began dressing up in the woman's clothes. With a flick of her wand, she send the zipper back up. She sat on the desk and picked one shoe up. Red-lacquered sole. Louboutin.

'You are rather wealthy, aren't you?' her eyebrow shot up almost against her volition. She removed the invisibility spell and then created an illusion. Auburn hair, green eyes, no scars - she would never fool someone close to this Merigold woman, but hoped that her colleagues would fall for that.

'I'm a specialist.' the woman, putting on Hermione's pants, scoffed. Even under Imperius she was rather feisty. 'I'm worthy my earn.'

She put the invisibility charm on Merigold and pulled the woman's ID from her hand.

'How do I enter that room?'

'Place my card to the side of the frame. Anyplace.' Merigold drawled.

'Stand stiff and not a word.'

'Sure.'

She watched Bellatrix stir. The woman was ghastly pale and her hair was a mess. She lifted her head and pushed her chin up. Bellatrix's eyes unfazed and fixed on her. There was a sudden light in her eyes.

'Muddy!' she croaked, surprise creeping on her face 'Playing Muggle, are we?'

'Shut the fuck up. I'm getting you out.'

'Muddy to the rescue? Chit chit, this is something else.' the woman, either too obnoxious or crazy to care about the situation, leered at her in no small face.

'Oh you've had it coming. Silencio!' she saw the woman's eyes bulge, fury distorting her features, her face blotching red.

'Now, Bellatrix' she carried on, keeping her voice steady, pointing Bellatrix's wand at Bellatrix, who was now fuming 'I'll release you from the cuffs. If you do as much as look at me sideways, I will knock you out and levitate outside. Is that clear? Nod, if you understand.'

For a split second Hermione thought Bellatrix had swallowed some explosive potion. Her face twisted and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as she tried to scream her wrath the Muggle-born, but then the Death Eater moved and nodded.

Oh this is not a good idea, a thought lashed through Hermione's mind as she murmured 'Relashio.'

And for a blink of an eye, it seemed as if Bellatrix would launch at her and tear her windpipe out with her bare hands, but finally the woman merely stood up.

'Let's go. Oh. Accio handcuffs.' she caught them and, taking Lestrange by surprise, cuffed the woman's hands behind her back 'Sorry about that, but I do need to walk you out.'

They returned via Venetian mirror into the room.

'You never talked to me. You were alone all this time. Merigold never came. You called her, because you thought the woman in custody was moving, but she never arrived. Do you understand? You are to do your job.' she told Clementine Dean and addressed the invisible Merigold 'You lead the way. We need to get to a parking lot. I need a car. Do you have keys?'

'They're in my pocket. Inside the jacket.' Merigold drawled from somewhere near her elbow.

Bellatrix flinched and stared around.

'Shush you.' Hermione put a hand inside the pocket and found the keys. 'You've never seen someone invisible and under Imperius?'

Bellatrix tried to turn around, probably to send her death glare for mocking her, but Hermione pushed her forward.

'Listen. Your fate is about to change from bad to terrible. I'm trying to undo that terrible part. Please, cooperate. Can you do that?'

The Death Eater nodded after a while. The woman was many things but not a fool.

'Merigold. Lead the way. Remember you're invisible so do not bump into anyone nor say a word. Clear?'

'Yeah, can we go now?'

'Rock on.'

Merigold must have been disliked, Hermione realized after tenth glare from her 'colleagues'. People were either trying to get out of her way or sending her nods and looks of utter contempt. She was focusing on walking in those deadly stilettos, her heels high above her comfort level. She felt her body sway on numerous occasions, one time she nearly toppled over and had to grab Bellatrix for support. Oddly enough, the Death Eater must have guessed what was the issue, because the moment Hermione's body wash flushed to her back, she arched and stiffened, providing sufficient support for her to regain her balance.

The real Merigold was clever as well. Knowing she was invisible, she kept closely at Hermione's side, either pushing or pulling her to right direction. All was well and they were quite close to the parking lot level, when the fifth calamity of that day struck.

A very angry Reynolds, veins popping and eyes squinted stormed out of an office.

'May I know what are you DOING?' he hollered at her.

'It's none of his business.' Merigold's lips brushed on Hermione's ear.

'It's none of your business.' she repeated, scowling.

'Not my BUSINESS? You're taking a high level security-'

'Address your complaints to the Directorate.' Merigold breathed to her ear once more.

'Address your complaints to the Directorate.' she answered imperiously.

'How can they already know?' Reynolds face was now flushed deep crimson.

'We have our means, Reynolds.'

'We have our means, Reynolds.'

'Just clear the way. I am taking this one to another facility and I don't want to have my head pissed on by the Chief because I'm late.'

'Just clear the way. I am taking this one to another facility and I don't want to have my head pissed on by the Chief because I'm late.'

'Call London if you must. But just get the fuck out of my way.'

'Call London if you must. But just get the fuck out of my way.'

Breathing heavily, as if on the verge of a heart attack, Reynolds moved out of her way. With that, Merigold pushed her forwards with rather much force 'He will, he's been after my job for a long time now. When he does and we're not out, we're deep fried fuck. Go!'

The moment Hermione drove the black Mercedes out of the parking lot and into the scorching sunlight of mid afternoon, she felt like she plunged out of a bad dream.

'Do you keep shades in this car?' she asked Merigold, now visible, who was sitting in the passenger seat and staring out of the window.

'Yeah, the glove compartment.'

'Will you get them for me?'

The woman leaned forward and threw her the requested item.

'Aviators? And agents? Cliche?' she snorted but put them on, nonetheless.

'A lass can dream.' Merigold answered 'Can I ask you a question?'

Before she did, there was a muffled groan from the back seat. Bellatrix's silencing charm was wearing off.

'Silencio!'

Hermione blinked. Merigold was also pointing a wand at the Death Eater.

'Fuck!' she braked and nearly lost control of the car.

'Steady, girl. Steady.' Merigold snored, turning towards Hermione with a wicked smirk 'How did you like my fighting-the-Imperius-Curse stunt?'

'What?'

'Relax. I've been working as a double agent for the MoM for a long time now. But now something's fucked up and handler has dissolved. Why did you spring Bellatrix? Do you work for the- You-Know-Who?' she pointed her wand at Hermione.

'No.'

'Are you telling the truth?'

'Yes. You're an Auror?'

'Nope. But still, I'd rather know if you did.'

'No.' she repeated 'I'm a freelance. Saving the world.'

The woman snorted. They were slowly making their progress in the direction of the outskirts of the city.

'My phone's in your pocket.'

'Oh yeah. Nice gear.' the woman arched her loins and reached for the phone. 'But a little on the tight side.'

'I'll explain it all. I just need to make a call.'

She dialed Draco's number. He answered almost immediately, hysteria coloring his voice.

'Granger! Is that you?! Are you alive? What happened? Where are you?'

'I'm all right. Let's rendez vous someplace.' she held the phone with hand, another resting on the wheel. In the meantime Merigold started muttering some incantations, tapping the wand against various parts of the car - well those, she could reach.

'There's a lovely bar just outside the city. It's called The Tomboy Tomcat. All-Muggle.' the redhead muttered and Hermione repeated the location to Draco.

'There's a Confundus Charm on the car. My colleagues could bump into it and never recognize it - or the people driving it.'

'Smart.'

'As befits a Beauxbatons lady.'

'You're French?'

'No. My mum hated Hogwarts though. Said it's windy and ugly and in bad taste.' Merigold shrugged her shoulders. 'Oh look!' she pointed at a road sign ahead 'We're here. First right, sweetmeats.'

'Sweetmeats?' Hermione stared at her incredulously.

'I enjoy random endearments.' the woman smirked 'Who are we meeting?'

'Does the surname Malfor ring a bell?'

'Oh, it rings an entire bell-tower.'

'Hermione!' Draco was first to hug her, Narcissa in closely behind him.

She hugged him back and then turned to introduce the newcomers.

'That's-'

'That's Clarissa Merigold.' Narcissa Malfoy cut in, her voice rather edgy 'I know her.'

'Oh! Cousin Cissy.' the redhead smiled.

'And Aunt Bella.' Draco pointed at a very grumpy Bellatrix Lestrange, her hands still cuffed behind her back, slowly getting out of car, as Clarissa Merigold held the door open.

Bloody family reunion.


	7. Ring of Fire

Who the hell was Cousin Clarissa?

Draco thought he knew all about his family. The Malfoys were related via marriage to the Blacks; via the Blacks, at some extent, to the Weasleys - and so on. All the pure blood families of England had been, to some extent of course, related. If you marry within a very closed group, that's what you get.

Not only Draco had no idea about some Marigolds or Merigolds, but the way his Mother was staring at the woman clad in Granger's gear was most unsettling.

The two women - Granger and that Clarissa person - set to work with great pace, while they watched. While the redhead performed some magic on that thing they arrived in, Hermione was doing something with that phone. His Mother and him were merely standing there, outside some Muggle establishment, both of them out of place and greatly tired.

They had been following that black thing for a long time, then Granger jumped on its roof (pretty badass, his mind registered) and with that, they were gone. So they circled around the city; he tried calling the Muggleborn (not Mudblood, it did not sound well and the very thought of the use of the word felt bad, bad like watching something distasteful) but to no avail. And then his Mother told him to move, they flew outside the city and waited. He had been panicking, with Granger gone, possibly dead, they were lost and abandoned; torn between the Order and the- that Man, with Muggles and their terrifying objects and the war the girl had told them about, unable to move, set aside like chess pieces (like a chess game without the Queen and only pawns left on the board, the one that is already lost, even if it's not over yet).

And then, many eons later, Granger called and she was already and there was Bellatrix Lestrange in that object they arrived in and this other woman, this Clarissa Merigold and Draco realized that once upon a time everything was easier and the lines (Gryffindors vs Slytherins, pure bloods vs Mudbloods) were not blurred.

'Come on, Draco.' Hermione Granger, in a dress that clung tightly around her body and extremely high heeled shoes, sauntered towards him with a pack of cigarettes in her hand. So he smiled at her, knowing that this smile was probably very lame and took one, ignited it and inhaled and the first drag was like a blow to his head and his stomach and the world swam around him and hazed, but then it was already and he was feeling a little high, if not slightly nauseous.

'You look... different.' he stated, trying to remain civil.

'Yeah, well, that was not really my plan but a girl's got to improvise.' she shot him a very bright smile, maybe slightly snug, but he found it endearing, so he  
returned the gesture.

'Who's she?' he mumbled, looking at the redhead who was standing beside that object, very close to Aunt Bellatrix whose hands were tied together at her back and quite close to Mother, who was eyeing the object with obvious distrust.

'I thought you'd know.' she sighed 'I've no clue. She told me she used to work for the Ministry. And now her handler's missing.'

'Handler?' he stared at Hermione. She had those black glassed on her eyes and so he could not see her pupils and it felt oddly wrong. As if she was hiding something from him.

'Oh. You know, the one who is... How do I put it? The spy's contact.'

'So she was...' he never finished.

'A double agent.' Hermione nodded.

'And now?'

'Well, I think that - well, him - messed something up with the Ministry. Or the Muggles. But I'd wager on him rather than them.' she finished her cigarette and threw the butt casually on the ground, stomping it with her heel 'Come one, we need to move. I'm sorry, but you'll have to take the back seat. With your mother and Bellatrix.'

'We're not apparating?' he felt a cold shiver run down his spine and glared at the object 'What is that, by the way? It sorts of reminds of me of something the weasel father once had... Father was glowering when he got exposed...' he scratched his cheek and let go off the cigarette.

'It's a car, for Merlin's sake.' he thought he could see her roll her eyes, even if they were still obscured by those dark glasses.

'Right.; Draco huffed and obediently followed the girl.

It was not that bad. The seat was made of leather, some machine ventilated cool air and they were moving quite swiftly. He was sitting by the window and staring out, at the country rolling past them. At first, he had to admit, he was feeling dizzy, nauseous even, but before something drastic could happen, the woman, Merigold, cast some spell at him and he felt immediately better. His Mother was sitting beside him, between himself and Aunt Bellatrix, who was sullen and magically gag. Probably to prevent her from screaming obscenities at them.

The broom were put away in, what Hermione had called it, trunk. The car was quite spacious. He listened to Hermione's tale with growing worry. The Muggles were actually well into them. He bit his lower lip, a habit he had picked no to so long ago, and pondered about changes and vicious turn his life had undertaken recently.

It seemed as if he had been living in a dream for his entire life. Believing in his bloodline and a destiny that awaited just round the corner, while being totally obnoxious to the world unseen.

The Muggle world. The dark menace which they chose to ignore. And then they chose to challenge, believing in their superiority. Without either knowledge or tactics, they antagonized a sleeping dragon. And now they dragon had been awoken and ready to charge.

Then the Merigold woman began her tale. It turned out she was not related to them in any way. She had been his Father's acquaintance in his youth. When he married his Mother, the woman befriended her as well.

Pure blood and Irish, Clarissa Merigold studied at Bauxbatons and occasionally attended Malfoys' balls. And then she befriended Dumbledore and -

\- her handler was no other person but Charity Burbage.

Upon hearing that Burbage was no Ministry official, Clarissa Marigold snorted and shook her head.

'So I was working for Dumbledore thinking I was working for the Ministry.' she laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

'Always playing ten games at the time.' she added and turned to look at them 'How's the old goof doing? Never heard much from him, these days.'

'He's dead.' Hermione deadpanned and Draco felt two things at the same time: gratitude towards the woman and sorrow.

'Oh.' Merigold's voice was small now and she turned once again to look at Hermione. 'How?'

It had been his cue to tell her the truth, but Hermione beat him to it.

'Dumbledore was dying.' her words were very calm but Draco felt as if stung by some hex.

'What?!' he exclaimed.

Why was she lying? Did she want to cover up his tragic error?

He felt his Mother shift as well. He stole a quick glance at her, but her face remained impassive and blank. The he looked at Aunt Bellatrix and here eyes were bulging and a vein was popping across her forehead, fury arising in those black eyes.

'Extrapolate.' his Mother demanded, forcing his attention back at Granger.

'Do you know anything about Horcruxes?' the woman sighed and they did not answer, so she sighed again 'Dark objects. The Dark Git' upon hearing that, Draco could not help but look at his Aunt.

Who looked as if she was about to explode. As if steam were to blow out of her ears and avada kedavras from her eyes. He snickered slightly, feeling lightheaded.

'- had found his path towards immortality. He tore his soul in pieces - you do it by killing people and performing some additional rituals as well - and place its bits in various objects. For instance, the diary Harry destroyed in his second year - yeah, the one Lucius Malfoy had planted in Ginny's school book - had been a Horcrux.'

He felt another pang of guilt. The diary of the Dark - his diary - planted in a twelve year's old school book. How cruel and how vicious could that be? One can - if one feels compelled to - plant various dark objects in others' belongings, and it's fine to some degree but giving such thing to a child is another matter.

'Dumbledore' Hermione carried on in a steady voice 'had found another one, it was a ring. He never realized the object was cursed. Snape healed him a little, but death was inevitable - and mind me, a very painful one. Snape knew about it, so when an assassin was contracted to kill Dumbledore on the Git's order' she was definitely covering up for him now and Draco once again was flooded by gratitude and guilt 'he aided them and did the deed by himself.'

'I don't know this Snape character' Clarissa cut in 'but he sounds like one hell of a brave guy.'

'Oh yeah. He is.' he saw Hermione nod.

'How many Horcruxes are left?' his Mother asked, her voice slightly on edge.

'Well. There's a locket. It was found by Regulus Black' once again Draco stole a peek at his Aunt, who was livid and red and insane 'but right now it is probably stolen by Mundugus or already sold to Umbrige. There's a cup, it's in Bellatrix's vault at Gringotts.' and so Draco once again looked at his Aunt and she was perplexed now 'And Ravenclaw diadem in Hogwarts. The last Horcrux is Harry himself.'

'What?' he felt like he had been punched in the head.

'When the Git tried to kill him and the curse rebounded, a part of his soul latched itself to the only living thing in its vicinity. Harry himself. That's why he can talk to snakes and is connected to the Git.'

'Oh. So? In order to defeat him, one must destroy the Horcruxes and kill the boy?' Clarissa Merigold turned to looked at Hermione.

'It works out a little different.' the answer was quiet and Draco shivered at the thought of the future that lay ahead of them.

They stopped at - as Hermione called the place - a petrol station. She ushered them out and showed them into a bar.

It was empty, save for a bartender, a young girl with bangs and a petulant mouth, who nodded her greetings with a smile that never reached her eyes. Clarissa Merigold escorted Aunt Bellatrix, her hands still bound behind her. The bartender looked at her with alarm, but his Mother waved her wand at the girl and soon she was docile and staring at counter with bored expression. They chose their table, it was beside a window. Hermione joined them, threw one glance at the bartender and shot them a small smile.

'What would you like?' she asked them and he remembered that not-so-bad thing he had had to drink some time ago. What was it called?

'A cappachiano?' he asked nervously and heard Granger and Merigold snicker.

'A cappuccino. All right. Narcissa?'

'That's quite alright. The same, please.'

'Clarissa?'

'Americano. I am on my last feet.'

'Ungag Bellatrix. Maybe she'll want something.'

He was about to tell her that maybe this was not the best of ideas, but before he even managed to open his lips -

\- the screech that filled the air would make a banshee blush.

'YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD!' the moment Merigold removed the silencing spell, Aunt Bellatrix bellowed on top her lungs. There was a whoosh of spell and Bellatrix's mouth moved but no sound came out.

'So much for asking. I'll get her a cappuccino. Hope she doesn't fling it at our faces.' with a very pronounced smirk, Hermione turned towards the bartender 'Three cappuccinos, one americano and one espresso please.'

It was odd. They were sitting in a Muggle bar and drinking coffees. Well, apart from Aunt Bellatrix, who was glaring at her cup with utmost fury.

No Muggle drink good enough for you, eh Aunty Bella?

'Oh for Merlin's sake!' his Mother suddenly snapped and he stared at her with bewilderment. But she was not talking to him, her eyes firmly glazed to Aunt Bellatrix 'Will you stop acting like a child, Bella? The girl' she pointed her finger at Hermione 'had saved your hide and you won't even drink a bloody coffee without making a spectacle of yourself!'

Draco felt as if he was about to faint. He had never heard his Mother utter something rude. She had always been polite and when she dislike someone, she would turn icy and freezing and insult them without cussing.

'You know what?' Hermione stood from her chair 'Draco and Clarissa, let's get some fresh air. I think we need to leave the sisters to sort things about between themselves.'

And so they stood outside and smoked and watched the sunset, while his Mother was telling his Aunt - he glanced in their direction - what Hermione had told them.

Clarissa and her disappeared in a bathroom for some time. When they emerged, they had exchanged their gears; Hermione was once again clad in her... outfit, and Merigold was wearing that dress.

He watched her, he kept watching her and could not stop; her mere presence was so intense, he could not not look at her even he wanted to. Now she was leaning against the wall, a cigarette in her left hand and those glasses were up and resting on her head so he could her eyes; her eyes were cool and dark and she was scanning their surroundings with what seemed schooled alertness; this was a gaze of someone, he realized with a shiver, who had seen some very bad things and no longer believed in the idea of safety.

Hermione Granger, the infuriating know-it-all had become... something Draco could not name.

A being on fire. A creature that burns, burns, burns, a mad force that is a so intense and radiating, that none can stand beside her and not get scorched.

As if feeling his gaze, Hermione shifted and looked him dead in the eye.

'Do you want another cigarette?' those bottomless pits that her eyes had become, were looking at him with something that resembled softness.

'Thank you.' his voice was more of a croak than anything else.

He was shook out of his musings by Clarissa's snap.

'We got company.'

'Muggle or-?' Hermione pushed herself from against the wall and narrowed her eyes.

'Both.'

'Where?'

'The other side. On your six.'

'Draco?' she walked up to him and muttered quietly 'Warn your mother. Wands ready. Protect Bellatix, she's unarmed. Go! Go!'

'What about you?' he protested, but he was being shoved back towards the entrance of the bar.

'GO!' Hermione urged him with a hiss 'I'll be OK!'

The moment he entered the bar, he saw his Mother stand up. Whatever she was telling Bellatrix, had made her very sad, he observed.

'What is it?' she asked him quietly.

'We're-' he never got to finish that sentence.

Something exploded outside. A burst of fire and air send him flying backwards, he smashed into something warm and then something hard and the back of his skull connected with something cold and -

\- he was lying on his back, unable to move, Aunt Bellatrix sprawled beside him, her skirt nearly all the way up and-

\- and his Mother was crouching beside his feet, wand in an outstretched arm and a shield charm in the air, preventing a fiery explosion from burning them all the cinder.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out. His Mother flicked her wand and said something, the fire was gone, something caught his attention, he looked through the corner of his eye and saw-

-a churned corpse lying close to him. The only intact thing on the corpse, was a fringe.

Suddenly the corpse moved, burned flesh twisted and something unearthly and inhumane filled the air, it was a howl, a terrible howl of death and pain and fear. The dying bartender was howling and the sound filled the air and Draco never heard something like that and he screamed too, terror filling him in ways he never thought possible.

And there was a sound and the howl was gone.

'The ultimate mercy.' Hermione Granger said hoarsely, her wand still pointing at the corpse.

'Clarissa's dead.' she added and knelt beside him and cast a healing spell but he was still dumbstruck and something was flooding his cheeks and he realized that he was crying and could not stop it. She forced him up and pushed him forwards, he fell into an embrace, he knew the scent, cinnamon and oak, his Mother.

And he wept. In midst of fiery hell, Draco Malfoy, a Death Eater, wept like a schoolboy.

The car was miraculously undamaged in the explosion. Hermione wordlessly ushered them in, this time it was his Mother who took the front seat. He cowered in the back, resting his forehead against the window pane, his throat sore and his eyes painfully dry and swollen.

'What happened?' he heard his Mother ask in a little more than a whisper.

'Muggles and Wizards. That's how they managed to track the car. Oh, I was so stupid!' Hermione's answer was rather strained.

'What do you mean?' his Mother inquired, this time however, her voice was nearly gentle, as if she was trying to convey with her tone that it had not been the girl's fault.

'I-I' Hermione smashed her fist into the wheel and muttered something, probably something very rude; she cleared her voice 'When we were at the facility, I was so convinced that-' she broke off and snorted mirthlessly 'What an idiot. Listen, Narcissa. There's more than one player on the playground. I'd thought that it was only the gray suits - the ones that took Bellatrix.'

'Somebody already knows? That's why the Muggles and our people?' his Mother's voice was very soft now.

'Precisely. I think that someone's double playing the gray suits. When we sprung your sister-'

'- you messed with their plans.' his Mother finished and suddenly she turned and looked him in the eye. Draco saw it and shivered.

The fear.

'Probably they would- they wanted to' Hermione was speaking with great speed now 'they would rather have it that the events play themselves out. Sooner or later Bellatrix would have given them the information they needed and the Directorate or whoever really is pulling their strings, would flash them the green light.'

'Why would they attack?' he stammered 'I mean, I don't get it.'

'A provocation? A counter strike?' Hermione's voice was tense 'Or maybe to hoped to snatch us all.'

'What happened there?' he asked.

'Clarissa set the place on fire. Petrol is highly explosive. Since there were some huge protection charms on the car, it's not damaged. She, however, never managed to shield herself in time.'

'Are they-?'

'Probably.'

'So. What do we do now?' his Mother, still looking at him, spoke out.

'We need to get back to Mr. Ollivander and Charity. We need to question her-'

'-she's gone insane!' he protested.

'I highly doubt that.' his Mother's gaze was now icy 'I think it takes a little more than this to break a handler.'

'And I think' Hermione said with sudden urgency 'that we have to apparate there now.'

'Why?!' he almost yelped.

'Because I think Ollivander's dead! Draco, grab Bellatrix. NOW!'

The rooms were deserted. There was no sign of struggle. Hermione kicked a chair and cursed furiously.

'What happened here?' he was bewildered, mind spinning at million kilometers an hour.

'Charity Burbage never really worked for Dumbledore!' Hermione fumed.

'So' he paled and felt very sick now.

'Yes. Charity Burbage is working for them. And now they have their wizard.'

'A wizard no other than Ollivander the wandmaker himself.' his Mother added and sat abruptly on an armchair.

'The whole Bellatrix thing was a decoy.' Hermione was now pacing around the room 'No one really bothered-' and she froze and he saw her hands fly to her hair, eyes widening with sheer terror 'The EMP!'

'WHAT?!' he panicked.

'Oh, how could I miss that in my timeline? With Mr. Ollivander kidnapped by the Dark Git, it seemed so obvious that the one to talk would be a Death Eater.' she was ranting madly now 'It was never the Death Eater. Never. It was the wandmaker.'

'WHAT?!' he repeated but he already knew the answer.

'How can you make the EMP signal that interferes with wands if not by obtaining all the information on wandlore from THE WANDMAKER!'


	8. Love, Loss, Life

And then it hit her, the nagging feeling that had awoken within her the moment they arrived to the motel and found it empty.

'LUCIUS!' she screamed, the all-consuming terror flooding her like a tidal wave. Her knees buckled, were she not sitting, she would have collapsed like a discarded rug.

They left him bound to the bed, Ollivander had been given the keys to the handcuffs...

Was he taken or killed? He was no hero and she learned that the hardest way possible: by bearing witness to his actions. But he was her husband and a part of her, the one that was not disgusted or terrorized or generally unhappy with how their lived had turned out to be, this tiny little section of her Black heart still loved him, loved him for the man he used to be or maybe still was, somewhere deep down.

And it was love and not the terror, that had her leaping from her sitting position and running, searching, frantically, with all the noise drowned by the thumping of her heart. She was casting wildly, detection charms, disillusionment charms, anything that could provide a trace. Until a firm hand gripping her shoulder and dragging her back, halted her actions.

'He's not here.' a feminine voice brushed past her ear; the voice she knew. She turned widely and stared into the eyes of Hermione Granger.

'He's not here.' the girl repeated softly 'But it does not mean he's' she broke off, her eyes never leaving hers, a thing she found oddly comforting.

Bloodlines. How ridiculous.

The nagging voice in the back of her head; the one that would sometimes remind her that Andromeda was her sister no matter what; the one that reminded her that she does not really detest her niece.

She inhaled deeply.

'We must find him.' her whisper was strained and for a second she feared she would break down and crumble atop the girl and weep her heart out into her shoulder. But she was Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black and Blacks never show their weakness. Never.

'Yes.' the girl nodded, her eyes still locked with hers. 'We will.'

'How?' it was Draco. He stood by their sides, eyes bloodshot and she was forcefully reminded, how he had wept back at the petrol station.

'By finding them.' Hermione turned to look at her son now 'By finding out about them.'

'How?' he repeated.

'Baby steps.'

'He'll be dead by then!' her son screamed, his face contorted in both fear and fury and oh -

\- Oh how he resembled Lucius.

'No.' Hermione's voice was steady and her grasp on Narcissa's shoulder firm like iron 'It would make no sense. They have him and they will question him. As long as he's useful, his safe. And your father is no fool and he knows that. He'll play for time. And therefore he will earn us some time too.'

'But the timeline...?' Draco took a step backwards 'You told me-'

'We have already altered the timeline, no matter how slightly.'

'How do you know that? You said you had been convinced it was a Death Eater captured by Muggle officials and now you've realized it was Ollivander - and - and how do you know if it isn't repeating itself?' he was rambling, his face pale and eyes huge, full of boyish despair.

'Because I'm here.' her answer was smooth.

'What?' both Narcissa and her son snapped at that.

'Were the time travel to work properly, I would be my sixteen year old self. There's two of me in this timeline. This is a huge alteration.'

'Muddy' a hoarse voice spoke out of the corner of the room and Narcissa turned, startled, and realized that she had indeed forgotten about her sister 'are you telling us you've created a time paradox?'

Bellatrix, still bound and - as of now - ashen pale, made her way slowly towards them.

'Yeah.' Hermione nodded looked at the woman 'I have.'

'DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DEADLY THAT IS, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD?!'

Bellatrix screamed maniacally and for the first time ever, Narcissa regretted rescuing her from the Muggle facility.

Much to her surprise, Hermione let go off her shoulder and walked towards Bella. She stood sharply right in from of the woman, and suddenly shifted. With a heavy thud her fist contacted with Bellatrix's face and the woman staggered and fell over. Hermione crouched by her side, grabbed a fistful of her hair and Narcissa heard her growl.

'Listen, Lestrange. I don't give a fuck about what you think of me. But while you're here and the whole world is coming apart, it would do you well if you kept your opinions to yourself. UNLESS YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY THAT IS ACTUALLY IMPORTANT!' the last statement was accentuated with another punch.

Her sister cackled.

Hermione stood up and turned her back to her. Which was a mistake, because the second she did, Bellatrix kicked her viciously in the shins. Granger lost her footing for a heartbeat, but then turned once again, ready to kick.

'Enough!' Narcissa heard herself yell. 'Bella STOP! Hermione - DON'T LET HER GOAD YOU!'

It was like pulling two children aside.

'Just stop.' she repeated, calming down 'We need to think. We need to plan. Is this place safe?'

Hermione looked at her.

'No. You're right. We must leave. At once. Draco.' she turned to the boy 'Take your aunt outside. Narcissa' she send her a swift glance 'we need to clear this place up. Not a trace.'

'ARE YOU TWO ON FIRST NAME BASES NOW?!' Bellatrix would not stop. Narcissa sighed and pointed her wand at her sister.

'Sorry.' she said and send another silencing jinx at her.

They left the town on foot. As Hermione explained, it was more than possible that however the Wizard enemies were, they were tracking any magical activity now. It would not be wise to apparate, since the spell had the tendency to leave a faint trace for some time.

Bellatrix was not cooperating, she observed with annoyance. Her sister acted like a child, slowing them down and trying to escape. She had no wand and not a clue, but yet she was desperate to rejoin Him. No matter what her fate would be, if she had.

It was not Azkaban that damaged her. She had hoped, once upon a time, that this was the cause of all Bella's mental problems. It would make it all more understandable. Yet there was no point in lying to herself about it.

It was Him. He poisoned her mind. He became a father, a mentor, maybe even an object of obsessive love, to her and she would never let go off him. Desperate to please Him at all cost, clinging to his every word like it was an epiphany, her eyes never leaving Him whenever the two of them would find themselves in a single space, Bellatrix had become as twisted as her tormentor.

And now Narcissa regretted that Bellatrix was alive.

She love her. Of course she did and she always would no matter what. It would be better, simply. Better for every single one of them. Narcissa would be free. Bellatrix would be at peace. And He would have lost His most devoted servant.

Only that Narcissa Malfoy would never harm her own flesh and blood. The connection run deeper than any Black upbringing.

It was love. It had always been love.

And it struck her, as they were trailing down a dusty path, an early night setting around them, dogs barking in the distance. An epiphany hit Narcissa Malfoy like lighting bold.

Of course it was love. The whole world moved for love. It knelt before it in awe.

They set a camp up. Or at least something that resembled - or imitated - one. Hermione and Draco created some sort of a shelter using pine branches. Now they set about making a fire.

They had been for about forty eight hours up. As Narcissa sat down on a dry loge Draco had found, facing the merry dance of the flames, she felt her weariness drape itself around her like a cloak. While Hermione tended to a very sour Bellatrix - the woman was still wounded and stitched up after all - and Draco tried to comfort her by resting his head against her shoulder (she did embrace her son, an arm over his shoulders, his warm body pressing against her side; she kissed his temple feeling slightly ashamed, it was not how she had been brought up), Narcissa was staring at the fire and thinking about times and places that had come to pass and disappeared with time.

'Well, well, well. All's cozy but is there any food?' Hermione must have lifted the silencing charm and Bellatrix spoke out, startling her 'Or did the little Mudblood fowget 'bout it?' it was, once again, that baby voice her sister used to taunt others.

She was pretty convinced Hermione would not regal her with an answer. To her surprise the girl spoke out, her voice very level.

'Sorry, Madame Lestrange. It slipped my mind while we were running for our lives.' the jibe at the end of the sentence was not bitter.

'Tut tut, little Mudslut, aways unpwepawed.' it was barely understandable.

'Give it a rest, Bella.' Narcissa finally decided to look at her sister.

'Now my blood traitor sister dares to tell me what to do?' Bellatrix almost hissed, her heavy lidded eyes dark. 'What next? Mudbloods ordering me around? Oh I don't think so!'

'Aunt Bella.' Draco drawled in his best imitation of Lucius 'Why don't you stuff it?'

Had it been any other day, Narcissa would have scolded him. Now she chuckled. Bellatrix's mouth hung agape for a heartbeat.

'What's that, Draco?!' this time it was real hiss. 'Something left you mouth or have I misheard?'

'Calm down. All of you.' Hermione straightened and looked at the, eyes thunderous 'Leave your family issues for late. Madam Lestrange' she looked at Bellatrix, who was scowling heavily 'it would be most appreciated if you cooperated just a little bit.'

'You're telling me what to do?' Bellatrix looked as if she could not believe her own ears.

'I implore you.' the girl stressed the word, probably fighting an urge to kill Bellatrix right here and right there, judging from the way here eyes shone 'We are all in mortal danger. And I do not mean the Dark Lord, Madam Lestrange.'

'If we are to be caught by them, the whole operation is off and the entire planet probably dies.'

'The entire planet?' Narcissa licked her lips, distaste pooling her mouth 'How is that?'

'Because' the girl turned to face her, face set and jaw defiant 'do you think the wizards all around the world will go down without a fight? There are by far more Muggles than us and you had seen with your own eyes just a little bit of what's in store.'

She was probably referring to that flying machine that had Narcissa almost screaming with fright (had Draco not gagged her with his hand).

'Since I die' the words must have shaken the girl herself 'in a nuclear explosion and Ireland is already wiped out by time, do you think it will be limited only to England and Ireland? The Muggles have enough of those nuclear missiles to blow the entire planet. I'm quite sure that sooner or later, a Wizard or a Muggle, will temper with those to achieve their own ends. The future means a world war to the extent unknown.'

It shut Bellatrix up quite efficiently.

'The Dark Lord-' she started but broke off, uncertainty showing on her face. But it was gone as soon as it appeared and her sister was scowling haughtily once again 'I'd rather die than serve that filth.'

'Do you want to know how you die?' Hermione's voice was a menacing growl and Narcissa realized she never asked for the details. Not sure she wanted to hear them now, she stood up.

And that calmed the girl down.

But Bellatrix snorted.

'Do you think you can frighten me into obedience? Me? I am the Dark Lord's most loyal - Me? I have seen things, little girl, that would make your blood boil with terror - Me? Do you really think that I fear anything?'

'Oh you will be frightened.' Hermione's answer was soft. Almost as if filled with compassion. Or sorrow.

And so Narcissa sat back down and stared at the fire.

'Tell us. In detail.' she would not look the girl in the eye, but she would know the truth.

Because Bellatrix had to know what were they up against. And Narcissa herself had to face her fear of the future. Otherwise, she would always fear it.

'The three of you were captured by Muggle Snatchers and transported into a facility in Geneva. It operated as some Special Care Service Unit or something. In truth, it belonged to a corporation that sold medicine and played with genetics, funded by the World Health Organisation and supplying it with cheap substitutes for medicine that is send to Africa. It doesn't matter, the details don't. The truth is simple, it runs on blood money.' Hermione was looking in the fire 'During the Muggle Wars, the corporation funded most of the projects and since its affiliations with the criminal underground, it supplied the Snatchers as well. The Snatchers, in favor, paid them in wizards. They would be off the charts, without any names or details.'

'You were held for few months there, tested and tortured beyond any reason. They used you and discarded you. Instead of killing you, and since business is business, you were sold over to some minor criminal warlord, who decided to break you - and sell once again. And since none of you looked too bad, you were probably a good investment. They started breaking you. Rape, starvation, humiliation, so on. And since Bellatrix was ranting about Muggles and how filthy they are, she got the biggest share of abuse. Naked, in a cage, brutalized few times a day, and so on. Lucius broke first. He was sold, as I had told you, to a brothel in Dubai. You, Narcissa, you would not break so easily - and Bellatrix had gone beyond insane.'

'So they started some new project. Bellatrix was to lay by... werewolves in their wolf form, centaurs, and so on. Whenever her... internal organs suffered from the abuse, they would stitch it, heal it and carry on.'

'Bellatrix' Hermione looked at the woman, who was staring at her with wide eyes 'you broke. After you watched your sister being raped by a half giant. Narcissa, you ended up in Intensive Care Unit after that.'

Narcissa Malfoy stood up, tried to regain her footing, but failed. Draco grabbed her, she bend over and vomited.

'No more.' eyes brimming with tears, she looked at the girl who was staring back at her with pure sorrow.

'I wanna know.' Bellatrix muttered.

'Bella.' Narcissa tried to beg her, but her sister paid no heed.

But Hermione drew her wand out, said the spell, and showed Bellatrix the memory.

She watched her sister squirm and fidget and suddenly Bellatrix's mouth opened and she screamed. And Hermione's hand covered the woman's lips and Narcissa Malfoy had had enough. She grabbed Draco's hand and pulled him away.

They walked around their camp in silence. The world was spinning and Narcissa was falling into a dark pit; an abyss had opened itself right in front of her years ago and she was never careful, never thoughtful enough, to notice it and now it was too late and she was tethering on its age, the pit ready to swallow her up.

Draco was silently crying. She held her son and felt his tears on her shoulder and the gasps of his breath on her neck.

'I won't let it happen to you.' he stammered 'Mother, I won't. I'll die-'

'Shush. We mustn't.' she tried to tell him that it would work itself out but this was a lie.

The Man had ruined everything. And Narcissa Malfoy was ready to kill Him. And fight to her last breath against them. Should the need arrive.

But there was this small thing, a fluttering sensation in her stomach, a ray of light. Hermione. Hope.

Bellatrix was staring in the flames. Her face bore no trace of what she had seen. Hermione was gone.

'How?' she croaked, probably hearing their return.

'I trust her.' Narcissa walked to her sister and put a tentative hand on her shoulder. 'I trust her.'

'A Mudblood to save us all? Are you insane?' her sister's eyes snapped, the all-familiar madness burning within them 'It is us, pure bloods, we must act, the Dark Lord-'

'-she tried to warn him, Bella.' she sat beside her.

'I don't need your comfort, Cissy. You've grown weak! You betray your own!' a vicious hand swatted her away 'Keep your distance! I will alert the Dark Lord! He will punish them! I shan't-!'

'She tried to tell him.' Narcissa repeated.

'KEEP YOUR DISTANCE!' her sister howled and flung to her feet.

'Keep your voices down.' Hermione reappeared, a shadow among shadows 'I think we've got company.'

Dogs. Barking. The sound getting closer. From all around.

As if on cue, Draco and Hermione extinguished the fire. She grabbed Bellatrix, ready to apparate on signal. She heard a click. Probably the safety on Hermione's gun (yes, she had asked how the thing worked).

'Lay low.' the girl breathed at them.

There was pop. And then more.

'Wizards!' Draco whispered.

There were voices.

'Where?'

'There?'

'There!'

Something pushed her. Bellatrix. Her sister made a strange flinch.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!' she bellowed and the green light exploded brightly against the night sky.

'THERE!'

About a dozen of stunners went there way.

'RUN!' it was Hermione, her gun suddenly firing at their attackers, but it was too dark, too dark and they were all confused and red stunners were piercing the night in red flashes.

A huge beacon of bright light pierced the blackness. She heard it, the noise.

It was a-

'Chopper!' Hermione yelled.

Now she was being pulled up, a hand on her forearm forcing her upwards and she was on her feet, blinded by the light, but where was Bellatrix. She spun wildly in Hermione's clutch and saw her sister, unbound, cursing her attackers, her silhouette dark against the chopper's light. And then there were those noises she could not identify, like minuscule explosions, firing from above.

'Machine gun!' Hermione knocked her down once again, she hit her forehead against the ground and tried to crawl away immediately, like a snake slithering across the grass, looking for her son.

'Fiendyfire!' Hermione's voice roared and Narcissa stole a glance, saw the cursed flames flying from her wand and up, up, until they hit the chopper and immediately the machine caught on fire and there were screams and suddenly something hit her.

She was flung across the field and landed on a body, knocking them down.

'Cissy!' Bellatrix gasped from underneath her. The wriggled like worms, her mind pacing at erratic speed; then there was a wild bang that nearly deafened her and a fire ball making its way towards them, but Bella reacted just in time, deflecting it, sending it back. The chopper was gone; Narcissa realized it was its crash that made the fire ball; Hermione must have pushed her away.

Where was she?

Panicking, Narcissa forced herself up and screamed.

'HERMIONE! HERMIONE!'

She saw Draco, not so far away, taking a man down; he spun around at her voice and joined in yelling.

'HERMIONE!' he screamed.

Someone grabbed her arm. Bellatrix.

'Come on, Cissy. Time to go home.'

She felt it, the sensation of side-along apparition, but then she was thrown, her body immobilized, for a split second she saw Draco fall and then everything went pitch-black.


	9. Like a Rolling Stone

Bloody brilliant.

Taking the chopper down with fiendyfire had not been a good idea. The blasted thing almost fell on her; the explosion knocking her off her feet. Fate was merciful though and she had not lost her consciousness. Pushing up, Hermione stared around widely. The remains of the chopper were still burning, the magical fire spreading at an unnerving pace; Hermione finished the spell, and everything was now pitch-black and quiet.

Were they all dead?

'Lumos' the tip of her want emitted a faint, almost eerie light, she focused and the glow expanded. She forced it to fly off the tip of her want and go upwards, still growing and growing both in size and energy; soon the area was basked in palely light and Hermione saw corpses and-

\- someone was standing, wand in hand, not so far away.

'CISSY!' the person exclaimed in shrill fury.

'Stupefy!' she send her spell with ferocity and it hit the other person, presumably Bellatrix, directly in the back. Hermione took off and approached them cautiously.

Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa's wand in hand, was sprawled on her back.

So at least Hermione had been right about that.

'Fuck.' there was a commotion; voices of people who must have seen the light and were sprinting towards them. Before Hermione wrapped her head around it, a bullet zoomed past her, brushing against her hair.

She threw herself face down.

It was a tough decision but one needed to be made. Grasping Bellatrix's arm, Hermione thought of a location and the magical vacuum sucked them in.

Her bedroom. They apparated on her bed, mattress creaking at their combined weight. She held a hand over Bellatrix's mouth in case the other woman stirred, and listened.

Her parents were out.

And then she scolded herself. Of course they would be out. Her sixteen year old version had already altered their memories and the Grangers were enjoying their new life in Austrialia.

Now that she had come to think about that, she realized that in her own timeline, the Grangers, were Australia still, well, populated, were happily oblivious of their daughter's fate. It was a small consolation but at least it was something.

She removed Bellatrix's wand and thrust it into the back pocket of her pants. Then she bound the witch in magical ropes and removed the stunner.

'UNHAND ME, FILTH!'

She was fed up with this and Narcissa was not around.

'WILL YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP!' the scream that left her own mouth nearly costed her voice. She felt her throat burn and she was immersed in such fury that her fingers grasped the wand tighter and she found herself on the verge of casting crucio. 'All you do is yell and yell, you FUCKING PSYCHO! HAD YOU NOT SCREAMED THAT BLASTED AVADA, THEY WOULD HAVE MISSED US! OH NO, BUT YOU HAD, DIDN'T YOU? BELLATRIX FUCKING LESTRANGE CAN'T RESIST CASTING AN UNFORGIVABLE, EVEN AT THE EXPANSE OF HER OWN SISTER'S AND NEPHEW'S SAFETY!'

With that, Hermione's mouth snapped shut. Of course. Narcissa and Draco. Killed or captured. Fuck.

She examined Bellatrix's bindings and dissaparated.

The search party had called the police. Hermione cast an invisibility charm and investigated the area. Nobody knew a thing. Narcissa and Draco were not among the dead. It could only mean one thing: they had been snatched.

Hermione cursed and cursed and cursed and then, her fury no longer smoldering and threatening to explode, apparated back home.

Bellatrix, still enveloped with magical ropes, glared at her with hatred.

'Gone, are they not?' the question was rather calm; coming from Bellatrix it nearly sounded sane.

'Yes. They are. You had to, didn't you?' she was angry no more. Mostly sad and tired. She lowered herself at the mattress and sat beside the Death Eater.

'I will not dignify that with an answer. I owe you nothing, filth.'

'Suit yourself. Are you still hungry?'

Had the circumstances been different, Hermione would have snickered upon seeing Bellatrix's bewilderment. Instead, she simply stood up and looked at the witch.

'No rescue mission than? No valiant Gryffindor to the rescue? My, my, Mudblood, and here I thought you-'

'I don't care what you thought. Listen, I can't go after your sister when I have no clue where she was taken. I've been up for more than forty eight hours and I haven't eaten in probably longer. Unless you're all fine and dandy, I have every intention of preserving my - our - strength. So. Do you want anything to eat?'

'Muggle food?' Bellatrix snapped, her voice somewhat hoarse.

Probably screamed herself hoarse.

'Y'know' she said with mock amusement 'they say one ought to try everything.'

'I don't care what they say.' Bellatrix Lestrange pouted. Like a spoiled brat. Which she probably was.

She glanced at the clock that stood on her desk. It was past midnight. No food delivery at this hour. Probably not a store open.

Hermione Granger winced at the thought.

'Listen. I'm going to rob a grocery store.' she found it somehow ridiculous when voiced out 'Do you want me steal something for you? What can I get you?'

'I don't care.' Bellatrix's reply was as haughty as they came.

'Just don't scream your head off when I'm gone, all right?' in any case, Hermione cast few Muffliatos on the room and then left.

She just knew where to go.

When she was a little girl, maybe ten or nine, she used to daydream about mayhem and anarchy in a shopping center. She would fantasize about sneaking into a grocery stop at night and robbing it, throwing things on the floor, smashing jars and taking all the sweets.

Now a twenty one year old Hermione would get to fulfill her fantasy. Apparating in the middle of Tesco was fun. With a flick of her wand she removed the all the security recordings and disabled alarms. Snickering under her breath, she accioed a shopping cart and magicked it to trail before her. With lazy flicks of her wand, she would knock things off their shelves and into the cart.

And the she realized, she had not eaten a proper meal in almost five years. On the run with Harry and Ron it was mostly mushroom soups; during the Muggle War it was mostly, well, at first iron rations, then, well anything edible. She had even eaten once a dog carcass. Of course, it was cooked over a fire, but still.

Her stomach churned at the memory.

Chasing the sensation away, Hermione focused on her task. And how tricky it was.

The supermarket felt off. There was nothing wrong with it, not technically. It was just very bright and overstuffed with things. Rows of corn flakes, rows of can food, rows of alcohol; it was no land of satiety but a nightmare of overkill. As if the whole society was a spoiled brat that had to be appeased with forced choices. Chocolate flakes versus chocolate flakes, the only difference in the label. How does one choose? One cannot, so one has to be fed advertisements. And Hermione, a savage of sorts, torn out of society, first by magic, then by manhunt and finally by war, felt lost, as if wandering through a dream, colorful but pointless.

So she refused to choose and wandered around, picking things at random. Rice, pasta, a jar of sauce, bottles of water, canned corn and bread and cheese. Two bottles of beer, also picked up on random. A pizza from the freezer; a second one, this one with pepperoni and some chocolate ice cream.

Chocolate. In almost five years she had not tasted it. Nor could she recall it's taste.

And that thought brought her back to Bellatrix. She had also been torn out of society and tossed into a nightmare - it, of course, had been different to Hermione's, but still it was one - in which she spend fourteen years.

Fourteen years of confinement. With no one to talk to and nothing to do. Besides screaming and listening to the screams of other.

The Dark Git, the beast that had been the cause of her incarceration, was also the same reason she had regained her freedom. Had Hermione been saved from war by someone, she also would have clung to the person with blind dedication.

And with that, she once again checked the security, once again removed any trace of her presence and apparated back to Bellatrix, the cart in her tow.

In the end she magicked two pizzas into the oven. She set the kettle on fire and sat by the kitchen table, waiting for the water to boil. Oh how she had dreamed about returning home. Well, at least in the first two years of the war. Later, her previous life had been erased. She had allowed herself to become the leader they needed; the one that would never falter no hesitate. The one who would be impassive and ready to die. And so she compartmentalized everything, clearing her mind of any emotion - except for the love for Harry, which was the only thing that kept her humanity from slipping away.

She was a machine. Sitting in her parents' kitchen, she knew that she did not belong there any more. She had no home and no place. Of course, she would do her best to avoid the future, not because it was terrible, but because it was the only reasonable thing to do. Avoid at all costs. And then?

She learned no to dream. Only the present was relevant. Without today there is no tomorrow. When one looks ahead, one may omit something significant. Like the blunder with Ollivander.

It had always been a threat, with her eager mind and the ability to diverge its precision from emotions, that one day she would lose herself to the machine that was lurking underneath everything humane about her. She now remembered, that when she had been very, very small, her parents would take to a psychiatrist. She had been detached as a child, they had feared she was autistic.

The water was boiling. She threw two teabags into two cups and poured the water. She levitated the cups to the table and went up to her room.

'Come down, let's have a cuppa.' she undid the magical ropes on Bellatrix and gestured for the woman to follow.

Bellatrix was oddly composed. Her eyes were wandering around the kitchen as she sat herself beside the table, a sneer befouling her rather shapely face.

'So this is a Muggle hole,you grew up in?'

'How did you guess?'

'I am no fool, filth.' the other woman rolled her eyes 'Where else would you take me? What other Muggle hole would be safe? Where are your parents, Mudblood?'

'The other me - I. Well, I send them away. So that your people would not harm them.' she licked her lips and blew at her tea.

'Would icky Muddy cry if the big bad Death Eater killed her parents?' the woman taunted her with her mock singsong voice.

'No.' she said at once and realized the words were true.

'No?' Bellatrix cackled and her eyes shone maniacally 'I call your bluff! You're lying, Muddy!'

'Believe what you want.' she shrugged her shoulders 'The pizza is ready. Which one do you want, mozzarella or pepperoni?'

'I don't want any pisa.' the Death Eater shrieked 'Don't you have any roasted beef?'

'Sorry, my house Elves are on holiday.'

'You have no house Elves!' the woman send her an annoyed glance.

'It was a joke.' she flipped her wand, Bellatrix's wand, wanting to open the oven, but the woman saw it, saw her wand, and in a flash she was on Hermione, screaming like a banshee.

'YOU LYING THIEVING PIECE OF- 'what Bellatrix failed to realize was that Hermione was not anymore the fifteen year old girl who had lost to her in the Department of Mysteries, but a woman who spend the last years of her life fighting for survival.

Hermione reacted upon an instinct. She allowed the older woman to get closer and then kicked at her, the sole of her shoe connecting with Bellatrix abdomen, sending the woman backwards. She snapped and launched at the woman. They crashed to the floor, Hermione instantly straddling her, pinning her arms to her sides with her knees.

And she saw red. She began punching the woman, her fists dug into her face, something crunched and specks of blood collided with Hermione's face, Bellatrix was snarling, arching her body, kicking widely, her head flying from side to side; soon Hermione's knuckles were bloody and sore, and every punch she delivered to the un-moving Bellatrix was a payment for -

\- for her torture at Malfoy Manor, those years ago, for the scar on her forearm, for Neville's parents, for the war her master started, for Draco's death -

\- and she froze and stared at the woman below her, face turned into a gory mask, black locks drenched in a slowly forming puddle of blood, she looked at her hands and they also were covered with blood; Bellatrix Lestrange was lifeless, beaten up by Hermione's own hands, she jolted upwards, panicking she had killed the other woman with her bare knuckles just as she had killed -

\- snap! She grabbed the wand, praying the Lestrange was alive, and began incantation. Soon her wounds were healing themselves and Bellatrix stirred. Hermione magicked the blood of her face and Bellatrix, scowl on her face but eyes wide with shock, was looking at her from the floor.

'Did you just beat me up with your fists, Muddy?' she asked, her voice torn between anger and pure befuddlement.

'And I burned the pizzas as well.' she sighed and opened the oven doors and watched, dejectedly, at thick cloud of smoke that had emerged.

'Sure you can't cook. Bloody Mudbloods, can't even make their own food.' Bellatrix picked herself up from the floor and marched towards Hermione, wincing only very slightly.

'So' Hermione cleared her throat 'pepperoni or mozzarella?'

'Whichever is least damaged. I told you I don't care about such petty things as food.'

'Fine. It's pepperoni then.' she summoned a plate from the drawer and flung the blackened pizza on it. 'There. Nearly all fresh and new.'

'It's burnt, Mudblood.' Bellatrix sniffed her food 'It's beyond edible.'

'Oh trust me, I've eaten worse.' and with that, ignoring the woman she nearly killed, Hermione munched through, what it actually had been, the first 'normal' meal in five years' time.

Oh she would have wept with joy. Were she able to.

Bellatrix refused to take a shower. She reeked of blood and swear, her hair sticky and her clothes smelly, she thrust her chin upwards and claimed she would never use a Muggle washing facility.

Hermione shook her head at this, magicked to woman to the chair, summoned a fresh set of clothing (her parents had left some stuff behind in their eagerness to move away) that once belonged to her mum (it would probably be to big) and washed all the filth away. And since Bellatrix refused to change her clothes as well, Hermione tossed her gear into to the washing machine, first making sure it would not get damaged by putting few additional spells on it.

Clad in her black tank top and shorts that were her mum's, hair still wet from the shower, she emerged from the bathroom and released Bellatrix.

'You are thoroughly malnourished, filth.' Bellatrix remarked scathingly, eyes raking across Hermione's body with the look on her face of someone who had to watch something disgusting, and added 'Under-bred, like any other Mudblood.'

'Said the fat lady.' she shot back, albeit without any venom in her voice. 'Come, Madam Lestrange, it's well past your bedtime.'

Bellatrix opened her mouth to argue but probably realized she would appear weak or whatnot in front of her, and closed in promptly. Hermione was tempted to taunt the other woman, but decided it was not worth.

'Would you like to use my parents' bed?' she asked instead, trying to sound civil.

But Bellatrix would not be Bellatrix Lestrange if she did not find that offensive.

'YOU WANT ME TO SLEEP IN A MUGGLE-' Bellatrix shrieked, eyes round once again, but Hermione cut her off.

'Fine. It's the couch then.' the magical ropes once again entwined the Death Eater and Hermione levitated Bellatrix onto the couch.

'You want me - me?! To sleep like that? Like - like a common - like-' Bellatrix was so furious, she babbled incoherently.

Which reminded Hermione of her shit fit in the Department of Mysteries. Harry had said something rather neutral and the woman went nearly berserk. It was no point of keeping her around anymore, with Narcissa and Draco gone, she was more of hindrance than an ally.

All it would take was one spell. And, should she find them, Hermione could regal them with a tale of Bellatrix tragic demise during some scuffle that never occurred.

Probably the same thought entered the woman's mind, because her charcoal eyes locked with Hermione's.

'So, filth, since my sister isn't here to plead for my life, you're going to finish me off and then, once you find her, tell her some sappy lie?' her voice wall cold and then she closed her eyes for an instant - and cackled 'Do it, filth! Show your true face to-'

'Silencio.' Hermione sighed and Bellatrix's mouth moved but no sound emerged.

She put the wards up. Repelling spells, anti-detection jinx, anti-apparition jinx, Confundus Charm, muffling spells, magic-signal blocking spells, several illusions and so on. She worked for a good half an hour, with Bellatrix on the couch in the role of a silent observer.

'Anything else?' she turned to the woman and asked casually.

Bellatrix regarded her for few minutes and then, slowly, almost as if against her will, shook her head.

'Good.' Hermione, also falling out of character, shot her a small smile.

And of course, she was greeted with an all-familiar snare.

'You know, you'll be all wrinkly if you keep doing that.' she looked around the room, thinking.

A silenced Bellatrix would be a very poor source of alarm, should something bad happen. Hermione sighed and calculated the space.

'Fuck me.' she murmured under her breath and focused. First the de-materialized the bed in her room and then forced it to reappear here. The summoning charm would be a bad idea, since the bed would float straight to her, probably smashing the entire stairwell and finally landing on Hermione (now that she thought of it, she realized it would give Bellatrix quite the laugh).

She chanced a small look at Bellatrix, she was livid, mouth moving, unheard obscenities hurtling at Hermione with the speed of light.

'Yeah, I know, it's not perfect. But look on the bright side.' she could not help it 'Should someone want to steal my itty bitty baby Bella, they'd have to go through her Herm-ow-ninny.' she watched as the bomb dropped.

Bellatrix, once again, nearly exploded. Veins popping, face blotching disgustingly, the witch threw another array of soundless obscenities.

'Shit.' Hermione whispered to herself. 'You couldn't help, could you?' and then she spoke louder 'Well, goodnight Madam Lestrange. Sleep well and dream of - ah, never mind that.'

With a delicate twitch of her wand, she turned the lights off.

Her bed. So eerie. So out of place. Not some bed. Her own bloody bed.

She used to yearn for it. No surprise she could not sleep in it.

Few hours later, she plunged into the nightmare.

'Ron, what the fuck?' she asks him, pleading and incredulous at the same time.

'IT'S HER!' his face is disfigured with loathing, the emotion so pure and uninhibited, it's almost oozing out of him. He pulls his wand.

'CRUCIO! CRUCIO! CRUCIO!'

Bellatrix Lestrange screams and her body trashes in his mother's pumpkin patch. It's September and the sky is low.

'Stop it, Ron!' she wants to wring the wand out of his hand, but his fist smashes into her face; it's by accident and her fiancee instantly panics.

'Oh, 'Mione! I never meant to!' he forgets about the curse and runs to her, but she swats his hand away. There are Harry and Draco and Ginny there too, their eyes are huge and they stare at scene unfolding. Then Draco snaps and runs to Bellatrix who is moaning in pain, but Ron once again turns round and points the wand at the blond boy 'CRUCIO!'

Ginny hexes her brother. Harry's torn, it's very visible on his face, glasses slightly askew.

'You're not my family!' he snarls at his sister 'If you align with this BITCH!'

Molly Weasley rushes out, she casts the killing curse, but the same moment Bill Weasley apparates to the Burrow and he's caught in between, Bellatrix behind him, his mother in front and the curse hits him.

There's this stunned silence and then there's a pop and scream. It is Fleur Delacour who sees the fallen form of her husband, killed by his own mother's hand, and she's screaming and it unfreezes the scene and they all yell.

And Harry grabs Hermione's arm and spins her around and he is crying.

'Take her!' he sobs and points at Bellatrix 'Take her and GO!'

But he apparates with her, and so do Draco and Ginny.

'I told you.' Bellatrix spits at them 'Those blood traitors would never-'

\- and Hermione knows that she was about to say 'take me in', she know, because there is the tentative companionship building between the two of them, it's mostly out of desperation, but it is.

But she never has the chance to respond, because the woman dissaparates again.

And it's December and they learn that she had been captured again and raped and then skinned alive for somebody's enjoyment.

'Stop trashing, filth.' Bellatrix's voice woke her up and she jolted from her bed, it was already morning and light was pooling through the living room windows, wand pointed at nowhere special.

'Was itty Muddy having a bad dream?' Bellatrix taunted and Hermione, still in clutches of her nightmare, pointed her wand at the restrained woman.

'Crucio!'


	10. Lesson on Pain and Trust Long Lost

Pain that threw her off balance; white-hot needles searing her body; she would not scream, but she heard a noise, a shill shriek that filled the air, and she was thrashing around, immersed in blinding agony.

It dawned on her - and such a shame - that it had actually been her voice.

'Fuck!' a female voice.

The pain was gone; panting she pushed up, pushed her hair from her face.

Oh yes. How she knew the face that was staring right back at her; mouth slightly agape and darkened eyes boring into her, that tall, starved frame.

Filthy Mudblood. Dared to inflict pain upon her. As if that creature was her equal. The creature dared to raise her own wand against her. She spat and wiped her eyes, silly things, tears; sometimes one had no control over treacherous body.

That piece of filth. The Dark Lord had been right, as always. Lowly beasts, such as this obnoxious thing, had no place in this world. It was by right, by birth, by blood, theirs for the claiming. Mudbloods, who stole magic, dared to use it, were an abomination. Something that had to be eradicated, their mere existence a blasphemy to all things sacred.

'You dared?!' she snarled at that thing and it lowered her wand, those stupid eyebrows knitting together.

Such weakness. Were you pure blood, you would never apologize. But that is all that you are, isn't it? A sniveling weakling that would try and try to wriggle its way into her world.

'Next time don't startle me like that and you'll be fine.' the answer was smooth and cold.

Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow, torn between ignoring the reply and attacking the creature. Oh, she would like it very much, to tear that thing's throat open with her teeth and roll in its muck - had its blood been not disgustingly muddied.

'I will kill you.' she threw at the creature and hoped it would cower.

Like they all do.

But it merely shrugged.

'Fine.'

So here she was, once again tied up to a chair, while the creature tried to make some breakfast. Muggle devices were not only ugly, but also totally pointless. That thing was moving around the area - probably a kitchen - taking plates out of drawers, putting something that resembled a kettle on some device that emitted small specks of fire.

Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

The situation was bad and she was annoyed. First of all, her family had been falling out of graces. That idiot, Lucius, had not only managed to smash the blasted prophecy, but also got himself caught. Of course, the Dark Lord got him out of Azakaban quite soon, but what had been damaged, thus remained. And then, that blood traitor relative of hers decided to marry a werewolf.

Her family had been shamed, the hurt and the betrayal stung. And the Dark Lord was displeased, no matter how hard she had tried to appease him, her efforts were futile. Even the death of that idiot, Dumbledore, did not alter the situation. But of course, the blood traitor, her blond nephew, her failed to carry out the deed. It had to be Snape, the slimy creature she never trusted, to deliver the final blow.

And then, that cursed creature landed atop that traitor they were about to kill, yelling about some absurd catastrophe and snatching on its way her sister and her nephew.

Bellatrix had been punished. And disgraced. And she had to stay behind while others went after Potter. And then it went really bad, because the creature had returned and, sneaky as they all were, killed Rod - and wounded her.

Bellatrix knew she had failed HIM so miserably, she wanted to kill herself - that is: if that would have pleased her Lord. She begged and pleaded to be allowed the honor in partaking in a raid. But she was weak.

A Muggle wounded her.

She wanted to scream and howl, and throw herself at his feet, prostrate herself and accept any punishment.

And that thing sprung her. And held her captive. And she had to find a way to return to her Master. He was all there is; it was always hard to grasp anything, when it came to Him. He was exquisite, powerful and so above petty humane ways. When with Him, Bellatrix felt - well, there was no word for it.

It was almost sacred. He was The Leader. A wonder so magnificently intense, a fire that burned brightly - and Bellatrix felt as if she had been simply born to serve him. It was the reason why she had been put on this world. And following Him, would lead her through fire, through blood - into something exquisite, an upper state of existence.

That was way she had to find a way to return to Him. Even if that meant coercing that creature (although the mere thought of being civil with a beast felt like... well, bestiality, and Bellatrix would hate to lower to such level).

'Eggs?' the creature's voice snapped her out her thoughts. She glared at the plate (what was that? why was it blue? stupid flowery patterns on side. no taste, no taste at all) and at the food she had been offered.

'Put it on the table. I'm not hungry.' she really tried to sound civil, even if her very insides churned at the very thought.

'Do you want to starve yourself to death?' there was hint of exasperation in the creature's voice.

How dare a house Elf address its Mistress like that?!

Bewildered, Bellatrix looked at the creature.

Oh right, a sub-human.

The creature was staring right back at her (how dare it? Does it not know, that it is only polite to drop gaze and bow, while in the presence of a superior being?) and Bellatrix pulled at the cords that bind he hands to the chair.

The creature turned and suddenly the kettle began whistling.

How ridiculous.

It removed it from the device, the small specks of fire were out and the creature poured now some tea. Bellatrix was getting a tea; the creature was drinking something else: black and not so bad in smell.

She grimaced. Of course the smell was bad. How could a Muggle thing smell even remotely not revolting?

Bellatrix gave herself a mental slap. Now, she needed her focus. She had to find a way to distract the creature and retrieve what had been stolen. Then she would kill the beast (or not, Bellatrix preferred to hurt, there was something bitterly boring about finality of death) and return to her Lord.

The she would regain her honor and hunt for the beast. She would keep it, in chains, in a dungeon and torture her beyond insanity. Yes, that was a smart thing to do.

'Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?' the creature once again dared to address her. Snapped out of her reverie, Bellatrix shot it a look of pure, undiluted hatred. Usually things trembled upon this look. But it merely quirked an eyebrow at her.

Probably, Bellatrix concluded, the creature was deranged.

'So, filth, do you have any plans as to rescuing my blood traitor sister and her brat?'

The creature shrugged.

'I don't know' the answer was blunt as the beast looked her, those dark eyes oddly... blank 'It's a tricky situation. I've no clue who's taken then, for starters. Only I know that they were wizards.'

'Mudbloods!' she snarled, glaring at the creature 'Daring to raise their hands against their superiors.'

'Yes, Madam Lestrange, whatever. But that's not really my point. Hey!' the creature let out a frustrated moan 'Y'know, you're not being overly helpful with anything.'

'What do you want me to do? Lower myself to such level? I - Bellatrix Lestrange will not - you dare question me?!' anger boiled inside her and all she wanted to do, was to fling herself at the audacious filth and tear its throat with her teeth.

'Will you please stop your ranting?'

'HOW DARE YOU -' but she never managed to finish her sentence. Her voice lost, Bellatrix gasped for air.

Disgusting! Filth! Dare silence - me? I-

'Madam Lestrange!' the filth exclaimed 'And here I thought your insanity was merely an act! But no - oh ho ho - you're mad as a hatter. Listen!' the creature was seething with anger and Bellatrix suddenly felt her own dissipate.

She cocked her eyebrow at the creature.

Very well, filth, what do you intend to tell me?

'I don't even know where to start. Whether should I go after Burbage and Ollivander or your sister. And there's - there's - well, there's you and your tantrums and your -'

Boring.

Bellatrix spaced out, watching the creature's mouth move.

' - well?'

She smirked and pointed at her mouth.

The spell had been removed.

'Well?' the creature repeated.

'Truth be told I decided to ignore your rambling, filth.' she answered with dignity 'I stoutly refuse to sink to your level.'

'By mere association?' the creature looked incredulous and Bellatrix only snorted.

'Very well. Here's what's going to happen.' the creature stood up, hands running through its hair 'I can't do anything at the moment. You're a hindrance - you're a nuisance and you can't even take care of your bloody self. I'm not going to risk all this just for your sister's feelings! She can very well try and save your ass on her own, I'm through. Listen now.'

Bellatrix maintained her bored expression, eyes never looking towards the beast.

Well, are you going to kill me, filth? Will you dare to raise my wand against me and say those words. I know you won't. You'll just ramble on. And stupefy me. Low, silly, pathetic -

'- I will give you your wand back.'

WHAT?!

'You didn't bother to listen, did ya?' the creature, mad - now Bellatrix was sure - beyond any madness she had ever encountered before.

'You may repeat.'

'I said: I will hold you at gunpoint. And return you your wand. Any suspicious moves and I will blow your brains - just as I did your husbands. You will take the wand and disapparate. I don't care where you'll go, you may as well as go back to your master. I don't care, Lestrange. As long as you get the fuck out. Clear?'

'You will give me - I will kill you - Idiot girl.' Bellatrix could not find any words to express her incredulity.

'Just try. And I will gladly end you. Get up, Lestrange.'

'You're - you're telling me -'

'GET UP BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND AND SIMPLY KILL YOU RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW!' the creature growled at her.

It was guttural, almost an animal's growl and Bellatrix snickered.

Only proves my points. Sub-humans. Animals.

But she stood up nonetheless, eyes glued to the creature. She pulled that metal Muggle wand and walked towards her; the tip of this thing finally pressed into Bellatrix's temple. It was cold in touch.

'On my count.' the creature ordered. 'One - two - here's your wand. Three.'

Torn between killing her and disapparating, Bellatrix chose the latter. Focusing on a single destination, she turned on the spot.

Gravel underneath her heels, the familiar edifice looming above her; iron-wrought gate before. She lifted her wand in salute and marched forward.

And crashed straight into the bars.

The wards no longer recognized her.

That is fine, the Dark Lord is wise, her knew it was no more safe -

Had the Dark Lord thought she would ever betray him?

And so, feeling rather peculiar, Bellatrix yelled for someone to open the doors.

Yaxley and Dolohov appeared in an instant, wands out and eyes set.

'Oi, you mongrels!' she yelled at them 'Open the gates, I'm sure the Dark-'

'Drop your wand, Lestrange!' Dolohov growled.

'Dolly, you idiot, don't know better?' she snarled at the man, how dare he.

'Once the Dark Lord hears about that, you'll be begging -'

But he interrupted her again.

'I said: drop it, Lestrange. You open that ugly mouth of yours and I'll send you to your grave. NOW!'

Before she managed to curse him, a spell hit her straight in the chest; she fell backwards and smashed into gravel, her body paralyzed. The she was levitated up and the gates opened.

'The Dark Lord no longer trusts you, Lestrange. It was a stupid mistake to return. Now you're dead.' Dolohov snickered at her.

Oh, how she would torture him. He would beg for death, in his urine and feces, she would watch him suffer like no one ever has.

He was there. Oh so magnificent. Wandless, Bellatrix flung herself to her feet. There he was, so close, so beautiful, so majestic. He turned to her and she felt something in her chest explode with joy.

His unreadable, wise eyes, looked at her.

Eyes nearly brimming with tears, Bellatrix looked back at him.

'I have no use of a Death Eater who can't fend herself against a Muggle.' he spoke and she must have misheard.

'B-b-but, my Lord-'

'Silence, Bellatrix. You have been bested by a Muggle.'

The room exploded with laughter.

Dumbstruck, Bellatrix looked at him, trying to read through his facade. Surely, this was a test.

'Your blood traitor sister and her son escaped with a filth. You were left behind to guard the manor. And what happened? Your husband - killed. You? Left for dead. Tell me, Bellatrix' his eyes bore to hers and she felt something cold arise with her body 'when did you betray me? Was it when your sister fled? Or when that filth bested your husband?'

'M-m-my -' she could no longer control neither stuttering nor tears 'I would never - I will -'

'Silence, Bellatrix. I am not finished yet. You are no longer a Death Eater of mine. You have been bested by a Muggle. You will no longer have your wand. Dolohov. Bring me her wand.'

She watched Dolly approach her Lord, bow and her him her wand.

And he snapped it.

'I shall treat you like a Muggle.' he carried on, eyes never leaving her 'You have betrayed me.'

She tried to say something, anything, but could not utter a word.

'And I shall treat you like a traitor.'

'You have done well.' he added seconds after 'Dolohov, Yaxley. I value loyalty. I acknowledge and award success. You have done well' he repeated 'therefore I shall bestow you with a gift.' he made a wide motion with his arm, indicating her 'This Muggle is yours. You may do with her as you please. But she also is a traitor, so tomorrow morning, I shall make an example of her. Summon all of my people. This will be, as they call it, a public execution.'


	11. Leap of Faith

Tom Mallory hated his job.

Upon graduating Hogwarts three years ago, he dreamed big. The Auror Office. Or the Department of Mysteries. But the world - and he learned it the hard way - had its own ways. It took him two years to find a job. A poorly paid, unsatisfactory job - unsatisfactory for someone who dreamed big and did fine at the N.E.W.T.S.

Maybe not brilliant, but better than average. This one thing was certain.

Now he was a bartender (or, strictly speaking, a bar-help) at Leaky Cauldron. He was twenty, his job was poor and he did not have a girlfriend. Ever. He had thought it was bad. He would go to work as sour as a lemon (his mother's words), labor with a grim expression on his face, and return to his parents' completely exhausted.

In his free time, he would read comic books or watch television, envying almost anybody.

Especially the pure bloods, on which he had developed an obsession.

He would dream of balls, traveling the world, duels and luxury, love and betrayal. In the end, he had created a perfect little world inside his head; in this world he had been the long lost Slytherin Heir (or Ravenclaw), discovered by no one other but the Malfoys, returned to the glory that was his by birthright and widely acclaimed. He would discover great power within him, become the best duelist in the world. And a notorious heart breaker. All the women would die to be his, even for no more than a night, even Narcissa Malfoy would blush at the very sight of him.

And Bellatrix Lestrange (in his fantasies, she would look like before Azkaban - the glamorous beauty, with high cheek bones and onyx eyes) would shiver at his sight (since he had accidentally ran into her picture while looking for young Narcissa Malfoy in "Great Wizarding Families of England back at Hogwarts, he had fallen head over heels with her).

Yeah, his life sucked.

But then, little over than a two years ago, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned to the world of living. At first, when he had read the article in the "Prophet" about Potter's madness and Dumbledore's stupidity - the one about the incident at Triwizard Tournament, he merely snorted and went on with his life. Unfortunately, approximately a year ago, the "Prophet" had admitted that its prior line was wrong; the darkest of all dark wizards indeed had returned. And then the world went to hell.

He was a half-blood. His mother was a witch, a pure blood, but, unfortunately, his father was a Muggle-born. Tom was little more than a Mudblood in the eyes of those he envied so much, but absolutely inferior to anybody else. Of course, he would join in Mudblood-bashing. Of course he both feared and envied the Death Eaters (oh, the bear the Dark Mark and serve Him, become His champion, His best lieutenant).

Bellatrix Lestrange was out of Azkaban. Tom hoped she would come to Leaky Cauldron one day. He started wearing black and grimacing darkly.

Tom hoped somebody would notice him one day and say 'Look at him. So much beauty, so much potential. He is so dark. We should tell our Lord about him.'

But no one ever did. The sulky bar-help in black clothes merely blended with his surroundings.

Tom took to hating his parents. Especially his father. The Mudblood.

He was cleaning a mug with a cloth, staring ahead and not really seeing anything, when the doors of Leaky Cauldron were nearly kicked off its hinges. A man with a man of black hair, clad in a black traveling cloak entered the bar and looked around, as if expecting someone and then proceeded towards the bar. Tom looked at his face, there was something familiar in it.

'Mister Dolohov.' Tom murmured in awe, finally recognizing the face. He felt a faint shiver of excitement run down his spine; this was it, now or never; he would attract the Death Eater's attention and-

'Firewhisky.' the man grumbled and looked away, leaning against the counter.

Making a face, trying to look casually and, at the same time, exceedingly haughty, Tom poured him his drink and hesitated. Maybe he should say something, that would hint his... potential.

But before he managed to form a sentence in his mind, Dolohov shot him a dirty look.

'Well?'

'Here you go, sir.' he nearly stuttered and shoved the drink towards the man, spilling its contents with a slosh on the counter and Dolohov's robe.

'Boy, are you dumb?' Dolohov snarled at him and shook his head 'How did a scum like yourself even get a job? Pour me another and mark my words. You spill anything else and you'll be spilling your teeth.'

Shaking with fear and humiliation, Tom poured another firewhisky.

'On the house, sir.' he stated meekly and Dolohov did not even bother to answer, taking the drink and sitting by a nearby table.

That was it and Tom had royally fucked it up.

He watched Dolohov sip his drink. The man was staring at the door, as if expecting somebody's arrival. Blinking away tears that were pooling in the corners of his eyes, Tom cursed his life, his family and his own self, while constantly eyeing the Death Eater.

Oh to be like him. Strong and calm, and powerful and disregarding...

His thoughts were coiling snakes, making no sense in his head whatsoever. And then an idea struck him, he would have to find another way to prove himself to Dolohov. Something proud and dignified, like kicking a Mudblood out or getting in a fight with someone and winning, or stating a proud acclaim for the Dark Lord's cause. His thoughts were racing now, he was planning, rummaging through his head, trying to find a clever solution.

Until he hear someone speak to him and snapped out of his thinking.

Dolohov.

'Are you deaf or dumb, idiot? I said I wanted another.' the man positively growled at him, eyes full of contempt 'Filthy Mudblood.'

'S-s-s-sorry, sir.' cold sweat beading his forehead, Tom poured another firewhisky and put the glass on the counter 'I'm-I'm h-half-'

'I don't care, idiot.' Dolohov shrugged, took the glass and walked off, back to his sitting place.

The door opened and Dolohov froze on the spot. Snapping, the Death Eater sat by his table with forced calm.

Apart from Dolohov, Tom and two elderly witched who sat in the darkest corner of the bar, discussing something profoundly immaterial, the bar was empty. Now, however, a newcomer stopped by the door and observed the room, before making their way towards the counter. The incomer was clad in black cloak, much like a Death Eater's, hood lowered and face obscured by its shadow.

Tom felt a shiver of anticipation. Disregarding everybody, the person in cloak leaned against the counter in a most off-handed manner.

'Firewhisky.' it was a woman's voice; slightly high, but oddly quiet.

Tom poured and tried to make out her identity. She took the glass, threw the money on the counter and took a sip, hood still covering her face. He saw Dolohov look her way, she also turned her head and regarded the man for a while. Tom felt tension feel the room and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. It was as if the two people were unsure how to act, whether to draw wands and duel or sit down and talk.

Finally the latter happened. The woman, glass held in a gloved hand (black leather gloves, Tom observed and felt, well, aroused slightly at the sight), made her way towards Dolohov. She sat opposite to him, her obscured face towards the bar and put down the glass with much heavier thud that necessary.

'Antonin Dolohov.' she spoke softly, yet Tom strained his ears and listened in on. Her voice was very level but also cold like ice.

'You.' the man spoke grumpily 'I got your message.'

'Good.' the woman must have smiled, because Tom felt a change in her voice. 'I am glad you decided to arrive.'

'I still don't understand why you wanted to meet. I won't have any dealings with your kind.' Dolohov sounded oddly curious, despite his statement and Tom could no longer pretend he was not listening in on them. He moved forwards, pretending to look at something on the other side of the counter. Finally he accioed a cloth and walked outside the counter. He began cleaning it from the other side, while prying his ears to listen the quiet conversation.

'Yet you came.' the woman retorted softly.

'Don't make me regret it.' Dolohov grumbled, a threat hanging in the air.

'Please don't mistake my eagerness to negotiate with subordination.' the answer was peculiar, a masked threat or a casual information.

'You think you're the big player? You?' the Death Eater snorted.

'Trust me, Antonin. I could kill you in a heartbeat.' Tom froze upon hearing the woman's reply. Her voice was devoid of any hint of aggression, yet her deadpanned tone was somehow intimidating.

'Oh really?' Dolohov asked, tones rising, incredulity coloring his voice. 'I've beat you once.'

'I was fifteen then.' the woman shrugged her shoulders 'Do you really want to pick a fight?' now, however, the smile was obvious, but there was no joy in it.

Tom felt very afraid now. It was as if the smile he had heard in her voice, was much scarier than any angry cry.

'Spit it out.' Dolohov spoke after few minutes with a strained calmness.

'You heard me at your gathering, did you not?' there was a hint of amused smugness in what she said 'I believe that gave you some food for your thoughts. You're not a fool, Antonin. You heard me and I saw you. I saw your eyes.'

'What nonsense is that?' the Death Eater spat 'Look, girly, I've no time for your little games.'

'You believed me.'

The silence was very heavy now. Tom looked at the two and saw them frozen in their seats. Neither moved, two pairs of hand resting on the table, palms down, heads directed towards each other.

'And if I did?' Dolohov's reply was painfully slow.

'You know what's at stake.' she retorted steadily, her eyes probably fixed on the man. 'You know we must tread softly or we all die.'

Tom had no clue what was going on. He dropped his cloth and hastily bent down to pick it up. Now he knew he should not listen in further, but he was drawn to the pair, unable to walk away.

'What makes you sure I want to participate?' Dolohov whispered and there was so much concealed urgency in his voice, that Tom momentarily realized he fixed himself in mortal peril. Yet he continued to clean the counter, mesmerized and fascinated.

'Because you don't want to die. Not like that.'

Once again there was a profound silence. Finally, after what felt like the longest minutes in the history of mankind, Dolohov spoke out, his voice hoarse.

'Let's say you are right. Let's say I want in. What do we do?'

'We prevent it.'

'How?' the question was urgent, immediate and fiery.

'By undoing the damage.' the reply once again was delivered in a level, cold tone.

'How?' he repeated.

'I've taken a leap of faith.' the woman chose to say something else instead of giving a direct answer and Tom could not help but wonder what was the hidden meaning.

'I've thought so.' Dolohov, however, understood what she had conveyed 'I never believed she pulled that one out on her own.'

'No. She arrived?'

'Oh yeah. I brought her in.'

'You did well doing that.' the woman shifted in her seat, either uncomfortable or reassured. 'What was the verdict?'

'Tomorrow dawn. She goes down. Publicly. Why?' those words made little sense to Tom.

'I had to ensure she does it on her own volition. She had to see for herself.'

'Cruel.' there was a hint of admiration in his voice 'You are a manipulative bitch, you know?'

'A girl has to learn her ways about the world.' the amusement in her answer was palpable 'And what's better than merely pulling the strings?'

'You've changed a lot. From that sniveling creature that I've taken down.'

'People change. Are you in, Antonin?'

Once more deep silence encompassed the two.

'Yeah. I don't want to die like that. He pushed it too far, didn't he?'

'Yeah. He lost it.'

'Believe me or not, I've thought some shit's gonna brew. I never knew it'd go that far, though.'

'I was right about you.'

'Huh?'

'You're no fool, Antonin.' once again a smile in her voice was evident. She leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers against the table 'Do you think anybody else?'

'I need a cover name for you.' Dolohov's reply made no sense to Tom, once again. They were speaking English, yet their language was almost not understandable, as if the spoke in a coded manner.

'Use my old one.'

'What's that?' the Death Eater snorted 'You know, I've never had a conversation with you.'

'Yeah. In my time my code-name's been Red.'

'Red?' the Death Eater's eyebrows flew up with hilarity 'Why's that?'

'Probably something about hair. Hardly bright to call me a ginger.'

'I'd call you a bush, y'know?'

'Fuck you too.'

Suddenly the pair chortled.

'Well, Red, I might do some recruitment talks.'

'Tread softly.' the woman repeated her phrase 'You'll be... Artaud, for the time being.'

'What's an artaud?' once again Dolohov's eyebrows shot out in confusion.

'Not an. A he. Antoine Artuad. He came up with a idea of the Theater of Cruelty.'

'What on Earth are you rambling about?'

'Your new code-name, Antonin. You'll be called Artaud, after a French playwright, who came up with the idea of -'

'The Theater of Cruelty. I get it, I get it. Why Artaud?'

'You carry the same name. And somehow, you remind me of him. And it's a bloody good code-name. I've always wanted to use that one.' the woman's voice was now very light, very amused. Dolohov chuckled once again.

'What was this Theatre thing?'

Somehow their conversation had shifted, Tom noticed, from hostilities, through undertones and threats, to a very light chat, almost. It was mesmerizing and almost excruciatingly painful to witness it; his heart brimming with longing to be with them and share this odd moment, Tom moved forwards and began cleaning tables around theirs.

'A theory that states that without cruelty, there is no theater. But not a violent cruelty, you know, the one that manifests itself via behavior, but rather the cruelty it takes for actors to show an audience a truth that they do not wish to see.'

'What?' Dolohov snorted 'That's a Muggle theory and it makes no sense. No sense whatsoever.'

'Put it this way: go deep, go raw, or don't go at all. Either you dig it to the deepest, or you simply do not dig. There's no middle ground.'

'You play with allusions.' suddenly Dolohov's voice was once again very dark 'Now I get it, why the Muggle theory of theater thing. You really are smart.'

'Pray tell.' the woman's voice remained light and almost friendly. Dolohov scowled.

'A two way warning. I either do it to the fullest or we duel to the death. And either we win or we die.'

'Very good. My intuition was right, once again.' she nodded.

'Pray tell me.' he mimicked her with a very pronounced smirk which bordered upon the scowl, as if the man was torn by two different emotions.

'You play the dumb Death Eater well. But you really are a smart one.'

'A boy can never play too many cards at the same time.' as of again, Dolohov mimicked the woman, but this time the smirk had won over, his eyes slightly amused 'I think I will enjoy our little dalliance.'

'I took to liking you, Artuad. Don't fuck it up.' the woman laughed softly. 'So. Recruitment-wise...' she hesitated and this was probably the cue for Dolohov to show off.

'I think Thorfinn Rowle will find our ideas agreeable. Scabior's getting a little restless as well, the lack of appreciation an' all.' Dolohov sounded thoughtful now 'Yaxley's out of the question, the oaf...'

Tom was buzzing with excitement. Whatever it was they were doing, it sounded grand.

Maybe a coup d'etat?

He had learned the phrase just a day ago; he was watching a Muggle soup opera about some long forgotten revolution and found the phrase as appealing as mysterious.

His thoughts were racing and his heart thumping frantically in his chest. He kept cleaning the tables, taking unnecessary time to perform the simplest of tasks. Circling the pair, he reveled in listening in on them. Fortunately, the duo was too engrossed in their conversation to pay him any heed.

'Greyback...'

'The moment I set my eyes on him, he's dead.' the woman spoke viciously and added in an explanatory manner 'He's just a disgusting animal.'

Dolohov burst in a harsh laughter.

'You sound no different than us. Never knew you were as prejudiced, as ye call it. The word, I mean.'

'Prejudiced? A Death Eater has just told me I'm prejudiced? The world indeed is ending.' her voice was very light once again 'There are many things I can put up with. Werewolves, vampires, notorious Death Eaters and Dark Lords, but Fenrir Greyback is not on the list.'

'One second. You want to enroll Him?'

Tom momentarily knew who Dolohov had been referring to and froze, cloth in his hand, eyes on the pair.

'He is the most powerful wizard alive. I would. But he won't.'

'It is that bad?' the question which had not really been a question but an assessment, sounded very grave.

'Yes.' her reply was curt. She cleared her throat 'As for now, the gravity's immaterial. Carry on, Artaud. We have places to be an people to kill, the two of us.'

'Aye.' Dolohov's answer was almost brimming with the sense of camaraderie and genuinely nice 'Well. In that case, I'd wager a small chitchat with Severus-'

'-it's done.' she cut in, tone slightly clipped.

'He's a smart one, Snivellus.' Dolohov's grin was askew but friendly.

'Never underestimate a Potions Master. Ever.'

'Rabastan.' Dolohov suddenly spoke out 'Rabastan Lestrange. I could try and talk to him.'

'Beware.' she shifted and leaned forward to Dolohov 'I've killed his brother, recently. I don't think he'll like me.'

Treason.

Jolted by his discovery, Tom felt a cold shiver run down his spine once again. Clammy hands gripped the cloth tightly. Ignoring his sense of preservation, he glued his eyes to the duo. It was no longer a fascinating conversation between two individuals, a notorious Death Eater and a hooded woman, it was something dark and immensely dangerous. He was torn; whether to want to be approached by them and asked to join in, or to flee and warn the Dark Lord. He almost held his breath, unsure how to act.

And they were so careless around him. Spilling terrible secrets and bothering about being overheard.

'I know.' Dolohov merely shrugged 'I'm not saying a direct approach. Just probe around, see what happens.'

'I will need a report. Tonight, midnight. Then we find a way to secure her.'

'I love working on a short notice.' Dolohov's face was sour as if he had eaten a lemon 'Very well.'

'Where's the playground?'

'It's a big festive. Everybody's been invited to Hogsmead.'

'Are you kidding me?' her voice was will with incredulity 'How thick is that?'

'He's the kid that likes to show off his toys.' the Death Eater smiled 'Always has been. Shall we make a show as well?'

'As I said' the woman's hand went up and touched her face, probably rubbing or scratching some part of it 'we need to secure her.'

'You meant: we need to frame her.'

'You read me like a book.' Tom was quite sure he heard a wide grin in her voice 'Indeed. Not only we'll show off our toys, but also paint it red that's she one of us.'

'Poor bitch. You've played her like a piano.'

'She's a tough one, you know. They don't really break. They have to be made. In that case, re-made. Now she's merely accused of treason. After tomorrow, she'll be a traitor. Nowhere to go, hunted by both parties, she'll simply fall into our loving caress. Or die.'

'You are devious. She will hate you.'

'Two things. One: I tried to play fair with her. Told her the whole tale, hoped she'd see the reason, but no. She never did. Two: we need her. Either with us or not at all.'

'What about the blondes, are they coming to the party?'

'Sadly, they got snatched. I promise you, though, whoever joins our little group of marauders and lives past tomorrow, you'll hear the full truth. I'm willing to do an Unbreakable on that with anybody.'

'What do you mean?' Dolohov's eyebrows were scrunched together in deep thought.

'We need to trust each other. Fully.' her answer was plain 'We've fought on opposing sides for long now, you and I. Yet I am willing to trust you. Will you trust me?'

Once again, there was a deep silence.

'I don't think I have a choice. I saw you that night and what's more, I heard you. I believe you. Fully. And yes, peculiar as it is, I trust you.'

'I never took you for a trusting man?' there was a slight sneer in her voice.

'I've picked that after my mother.' Dolohov's mouth quirked slightly.

'What's that?'

'The ability to see the truth in others. My mother was, well, highly emphatic. She read people like one reads a book. Always could tell when someone was lying.' his tone was rather dark, as if the man was reliving a particularly unpleasant memory 'And Merlin's beard, how she'd used that one.'

'I don't think emphatic's the best word. I'd go for shrewd.'

'Oh no no. There was something profound about that skill. Dumbledore-like.'

'Oh. You mean the infamous I-see-through-you ice gaze?'

'Precisely.' Dolohov nodded.

'Well' she stretched lazily 'as much as I enjoy our banter, I should get a move on. I look forward to repeating it quite soon, though.'

'Indeed.' the Death Eater stood up, a small smile tugging the corners of his lips.

'Antonin?' she addressed him by the name and stood up as well 'I think there's one thing we've forgotten to discuss.'

Eager to learn a little more, Tom cautiously ventured towards them, mind set on asking to join in.

'Indeed. I've thought you never noticed.'

'Oh no. See Antonin, I see everything.'

'Very well than. Shall I?'

'Please do.'

Almost casually, Antonin Dolohov turned and looked Tom directly in the eyes.

'Avada kedavra.'


	12. Gloria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, now she don't need to see the sun ahead  
> Don't need that help from God above  
> If you're losing her don't be sad  
> 'Cause she will offer you heart attacks
> 
> Mando Diao - "Gloria"

Saying that killing the bartender brat did not make her feel a twinge discomfort would be the understatement of the year. Hermione Granger was no murderer. She was precise and very direct, yes. Efficient and cool-headed, true. Ready to do go at great lengths to achieve the goal she pursued, of course. And capable of killing in blood, indeed. But she was no murderer.

Yet life does not always pet our heads nor it allows us to do whatever we please. Sometimes you have to be cold. Sometimes you have to do things you consider heinous - if by doing them you can achieve the infamous greater good. For instance: killing is never right. No matter why you do it, it is wrong. One does not have any right to other's life. Yet when you go to war, you kill. And sometimes you have to accept collateral damage.

That was, at least, what Hermione Granger thought while taking a shower. Her chat with Dolohov was oddly charming and that left her feeling distressingly comfortable with the man. She had imagined, earlier on, after the Department of Mysteries, him to be equally dumb as he had proved to be brutal. Yet life (she had taken to personify life as a terribly fickle being that cackle madly while spinning people like one spins coins out of boredom) had its way and once again she felt as if it had literally kicked her arse.

Sighing irritably, she stepped out of the shower and dressed. It was eleven p.m., within an hour Dolohov - or Artaud, as she had named him - would contact her and they would plot. She had considered alerting the Order of the Phoenix but then decided against it. Both parties would probably consider this act a treason and jump at each other's throats. Had she arrived to a different location, she would have undertaken different course of action. But as of now, she would have to plot with the Death Eaters, and not merely plot, but concoct a plan, thwart the Dark Git's plan - and rescue a Death Eater most of Wizarding England would love to see dead.

The irony of fate.

She ate a little supper, drank a coffee and lit a cigarette. Staring out of living room window, she watched the neighborhood, feeling detached. For eleven years this used to be her home. She knew the streets and the houses - and the people who lived in them. Mrs. Adams - just across the street. An elderly lady who had three cats: Sparks, Petunia and... Well, the third one was a vile beast, so Hermione did not feel overly remorseful about forgetting its name. Mr. and Mrs. Jones, an American couple who had arrived some time before her birth to England - the next house to Grangers. The Roberts family. The Whites.

On and on the list went. She had known them and she had known them. A tea with Mrs. Adams who would babysit her whenever her parents took a night off. Occasional breakfast with Peter White, her first crush (two years older than her, the other nerdy child in her school) and his parents on Sundays. Playing with Amy Roberts. Scuffles with her older sister, Sarah. The swings on Yellow Square and her first fall (she was trying to jump off while trying to impress Sarah). The bitter taste of blood in her mouth. Her face shoved into sand with the brutal force of her fall. Tears. The way Peter White came running towards her.

All of them, every single person who lived here, had now became a stranger. Peter, probably worrying about his Cambridge or Oxford application in now time, had become a strange. Amy and her sweet smile, probably aimed at some sweetly innocent boyfriend, had dissolved into a memory. Sarah, now nineteen and probably studying law in London, no one as well.

This was no longer her world. Not by her blood, nor by her life.

Actually, she realized with a small shudder, there was no her world anymore. She did not belong anywhere. This timeline belonged to a sixteen (or was it already seventeen) year old Hermione, who still clung to her innocence with the same force she clung to her virginity.

This Hermione, a specter and a stranger, was neither innocent nor virgin.

She discarded the cigarette, stomped it with her boot and went outside. The night was surprisingly warm. She inhaled deeply. The air was sweet and thick, much like the air when it's the middle of the summer and rocks are still warm and so is the grass. She closed the door behind her and stood at the doorstep, watching her surroundings with a marvel.

The windows of the houses were still bright, people were watching television or reading books, unaware of what was slowly approaching, unaware of the secret world beside their own and its boiling trouble.

She could not and would not hate Muggles. During the World this had become her mantra, a thing she repeated in her head for hours. The mantra she forced herself to repeat while slaying her enemies. She would not and could not hate them, because of their innocence. Had the Wizarding world not invaded theirs, they would remain blissfully oblivious. And this state of affairs was to be forced on both their worlds, the thin veil between them was to remain... virgin.

She lit another cigarette and sat on the steps, they were still warm. A dog barked somewhere in the distance, she looked up and, despite the street lights, she saw the stars. Once upon a time, while on holidays in Greece, she had become so engrossed with Greek mythology, she learned all the constellations; as any wealthy middle class Muggles, her parents had rented a yacht, they would sail the Aegean Sea and she would lie on her back on the deck, and watch the same stars that had guided Odysseus back home.

Ithaca. A place of longing.

She had been a fool back then. Those sweet stories of Zeus and Athena, of Aphrodite's imprisonment by her husband's, Hephaestus', devices were merely a veil, a veil which concealed the bitter truth about a world ruled by Fate. No god nor man could undermine Fate; even Zeus' will could not overrule Fate. And those who would oppose it, were to commit the worst crime, the crime of tragedy: hubris.

No man nor beast nor god were truly free.

Now, however, she was more fond of the Norse myths. She admired how Odin knew of Ragnarok and shed no tear. She adored how all the gods, powers beyond man's reckoning, went to face their oblivion in the last battle, knowingly and willingly; ready to die and fearless. If she were to choose, she would stand with Asgardians and die on her feet rather than kneel alongside the Olympians.

Maybe this is it, with life. You get what you get and you get over it. Either you kneel and keel, or stand up and face your bloody fate with hard eyes and a fucking smile. After all, in the great cycle of life, who the fuck was Hermione Granger to complain about her fate? You just do what you have to do and you die.

She finished the cigarette and sat motionlessly, staring at the neighborhood and thinking about what was to come. She started hatching a plan.

A faint pop stirred the air; she did not stand up, merely turned her head towards the distraction and waited patiently, Beretta at ready. It was Dolohov, his robe billowing in his brisk wake. She acknowledged him with a nod and he replied with the same motion.

'Yaxley's having his quality time with our lovely lady.' he spoke hoarsely, eyeing the area with something that resembled disdain mixed with curiosity 'So this it them?' seeing that she did not understand, he extrapolated 'Our future exterminators?'

'The very same.'

'How odd.' he sat beside her and scrunched his nose 'What is that smell?'

'Cigarette. You want one?' she showed him the pack and his face split in a broad grin as he accepted the Marlboro.

'Ya know' he eyed the object in his hand with evident interest 'if someone told me I'd be sitting with a Mudblood in a Muggle environment and taking some Muggle stuff - what do you do with that, eat it, by the way - and plotting to thwart my master, I wouldn't know whether should I crucio them or kill them.'

'Put it in your mouth. Just a little bit.' seeing that he was about to put the wrong end in, she corrected him 'Nah, the other way. The golden one. Good. Now wait' she lit it for him and he eyed the flame with a small alarm 'Now just take a hit. Inhale. Take the smoke in.'

He was better than Draco. Instead of having a coughing fit, he merely scrunched his eyebrows and released the smoke slowly, almost in a caress-like manner.

'Feels good. Just like a pipe. Only different.' his voice was just a hitch slightly coarser than usual.

'Just like, only different. You should try for politics, you know?'

'Nah' he took another drag and looked at her 'we've got Pius for that. The goat-man.'

'The goat-man?' her eyebrow went up 'What does he do, goats?'

He snorted, his laughter harsh but merry 'Wouldn't be overly surprised. He looks like one. And sounds like one. Not too sure about the smell, never got close enough to take a whiff.'

'Please, don't tell me about smelling Pius. It upsets my stomach. Anyway' she looked around, feeling a little tired 'what's your excuse for today's, well, detour? When I said contact-'

'You probably meant an owl. But I'd rather not risk an interception. That's one thing' he shot her another lopsided grin 'And apart from the fact that I wanted to have another tete-a-tete, we're currently on a raid.'

'We being?' she licked her lips, almost unconsciously.

He noticed and smirked slightly.

'We being me, Snivellus, Rowle and Scabior. Bashing a Muggle community. Just few kilometers away.'

'There's no town - oh.' she laughed and slapped her tight 'I presume mounsieur Lestrange is absent?'

'Monsieur Lestrange is currently watching his sister-in-law. Very amusing man. Shall we?' he stood up and held out his hand. She took it and allowed him to lift her up.

The all-familiar tugging sensation encompassed her the next moment she was on her feet.

They landed just on the outskirts of the town, its light colliding against the darkness. There were dumpsters and deserted buildings in vicinity, a complex that once upon a time had composed into a factory. Now, however, all was damaged and the alleyway was surrounded by wrecks, papers littering the ground.

'Who is it?' Snape's voice came out of the shadows, harsh and menacing.

'Friendly.' Dolohov growled in return.

'Who's in tow?' the question probably had been a request of a password.

'Red.' the reply was simple and left her a little flabbergasted.

It is happening.

So they know her code-name now. How odd. How funny.

'Nice to see you make friends, Miss Granger.' Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows and murmured 'Lumos.'

The speck of light was faint, but she was able to make out other silhouettes surrounding them.

'Were you followed?' Snape walked even closer, moving the tip of his wand in her direction.

'Nope.' she answered briskly 'All Muggle area.'

''ow about you give us an explanation, eh?' Scabior's voice was nearly petulant.

'Haven't you discussed the matter?' she asked in return, feeling exasperated by the idea of retelling the tale. 'We don't really have the time for storytelling.'

'Miss Granger is being right, as usual. Scabior's just being cheeky. As usual, too. Zip it, Scabior. Unless you have something meaningful to add.' Snape send the man a disgusted look.

Now they were all out of the shadows, the tips of their wands shining. They forced a semi-circle in front of her. It felt eerie, their faces much resembling those she had faced in the Department of Mysteries. Like at that time, she could only make out tiny details of their faces, specked with blue lights of their wands. She took a deep breath.

'We need to spring Bellatrix.' she answered simply 'Because she's a good fighter.' she added forcefully, seeing that some were about to protest 'And because I've promised so her sister.'

'Where are the Malfoys?' Rowle, who had remained silent all the time, spoke out, his voice deep and thick. He was blond and big, all muscle and sinew, bulging from underneath his robe.

'I've told you they've been taken, Thor.' Dolohov snapped, his eyes looking for hers and locking.

Thor. How befitting.

'We'll get them too. But first things first. And that means Bellatrix is priority.' she nodded to Dolohov.

My second in command?

'That is obvious.' he agreed and looked at his fellow Death Eaters menacingly, as if daring them to complain. His reputation sufficed, no one objected.

She took a short breath and briefed them on what happened during the last days. They all looked horrified; Scabior's expressive face twitching in all the correct moments. She told them of the rescue of Ollivander, finding Bellatrix in the Muggle facility, the trap, Merigold's death, the disappearance of both Burbage and the wandmaker. The she relived the events on the field and her brief time with Lestrange.

'Are you sure, Miss Granger, we should bother with her? Bella's stubborn and unstable.' Snape was the first one to comment on her story, his dark eyes staring at her questioningly 'I fear she will prove a hindrance and a nuisance. And I hardly doubt she will accept your leadership.'

'Since she's' Dolohov pointed at her 'the only one who actually has a clue on what's going on, Lestrange will have to swallow her ego and stuff that black head of hers up her arse.'

'Is it wise, though? Bella will not yield. Who knows, she might even decide to attack us when we rescue her.' Snape was motionless and his gaze very stern.

'Much like, sick bitch!' Scabior piped in, his eyebrows almost sky-level 'We should dump that mad bitch into a ravine, eh!'

'Lestrange is fierce and devoted to whatever case she chooses. Do you think she'll stick' careful not to say The Dark Git, Hermione looked back at Snape 'with him even if he's ordered her death?'

'She is a fanatic. Fanatics don't think. They merely obey.'

'Then she must break.' she concluded.

'If you had the means and the time to do so, you might have stood a chance to do so. Albeit even if the circumstances had been in our favor, I'm not very sure Bella could break.' Snape took a step towards her 'I know you feel honor-bound by your word to Narcissa-' he began but she raised her hand, an idea popping into her head. It was mad, wild - but maybe not impossible.

'What I meant by breaking, was not torture nor brainwashing. Bellatrix must know, must be made to know, that this all is for her lord's safety.'

'What?' both Scabior and Rowle looked at her bemusedly.

'If the dire situation is not averted...' Dolohov spoke slowly and softly '... the Dark Lord will die.'

'She must disobey him. If she wants to save him, she must disobey him.' Snape finished, looking at Hermione with the expression of someone who had seen an invaluable treasure just moments ago. 'I must confess I never estimated your intellect fully, Miss Granger. I apologize most profoundly.'

'I don't get it. Why's that helpful? What are you talking about?' Scabior protested, scowling and grinning at the same time and Hermione could not help but wonder at the variety of emotions his face could show in the same time.

'Bellatrix is devoted fanatically to the Dark Lord.' Snape looked at the pair with disgust 'She will do anything and everything to protect him. This will ensure her utter devotion to our case.'

'And not only that. She will literally have no middle ground.' Hermione added, looking at Scabior and wondering whether bringing him here had been a good idea; the man looked lost and was now blinking stupidly, his mouth agape. She allowed her gaze to travel to Rowle, who remained silent and motionless, like an ancient statue of a long-forgotten deity 'For her, if we pull it off, it's either death by Him or the Order. We are her middle ground.'

Scabior nodded - she caught the motion with the corner of her eye - but did not look overly enthusiastic, probably not really grasping the concept.

'How do we do?' it was Rowle who uttered the question 'There will lots of us - well, lots of us.'

'And here's the fun part. What are your sitting arrangements?' she shot the men a broad grin, but none understood so she amended herself 'Boys' the all flinched and she stifled a giggle 'what are your ranks?'

There was a flicker of amusement and understanding in Snape's eye.

'Mr. Dolohov and myself and competing for the position of first lieutenant, now Bellatrix is out of equation.' his voice was calm and collected 'However, I believe Yaxley also had taken the idea of leading us.'

'Which is brilliant. Severus? Antonin? I need your best performance. Tonight you will be rivals to the fullest meaning of the word. You see' she shot them another broad grin which resulted in a low chuckle from Dolohov and a very bemused expression on Snape's face. 'you will embrace your childish side.'

A childish side of Death Eaters. Bloody brilliant, Hermione.

She told them the entire plan.

'So.' Dolohov spoke after a long minute of contemplative silence, his face alight with something that resembled childlike excitement 'We'll be role-playing tonight, Severus!' and he burst out in a real and genuine fit of laughter. Not cackling, not snorting, not smirking - laughing. And he clutched his sides and suddenly all of them, with the exception of Snape, were guffawing like madmen.

For indeed, the plan was worthy of madmen.

She apparated back home and Death Eaters reported to their headquarters. Each of them had a different role to play within few hours. Her current mission was to obtain a disguise. And since magical was not a good idea, as the Dark Git was bound to see through most of glamour spells, Hermione decided to resort to Muggle means.

Feeling slightly guilty, she apparated to a hair saloon she used to visit as a child. She looked through the colors, feeling suddenly very girlish, and decided on dying her hair black. Having never done it before, she re-read the instruction until she almost memorized it word to word in case something went horribly wrong and she found herself bald. Which would be a tragedy even bigger than the Muggle Apocalypse they were trying to avert.

Oh yes, she had hated her hair for years. But then genes kicked in and suddenly Hermione found herself almost in love.

With her hair.

And, taking great pride in the, she would rather risk detection than their destruction.

Yes, dying with perfect hair is better than living with none.

Upon the notion, she smacked herself on the forehead, trying to override the giddy amusement that had filled her up ever since her conversation with Dolohov. Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was kind of cool. Yes, he had been definitely flirting. Yes, she had not been with a man for a long time now (well, a week, but war and death makes even the most pristine ones suddenly lewd and lascivious; death was most definitely the most powerful aphrodisiac on Earth).

Dying her hair black and not thinking about Dolohov, she riffled through a copy of Vogue. She tried very hard to omit any word that started with s and ended with an x, but suddenly she found herself in a universe full of sex, sexy, sex it up, orgasm and caress. She discarded the magazine and glared at her own reflection; the other Hermione glared back and suddenly the two of them snorted.

'You're being incredulous.' she told the other Hermione and watched her reflection's lips move.

'Fuck me. I look like a bloody Snow White!' she gasped after emerging from under tap, her new black hair still wet and now slightly tangled. She weaved her hand through her hair and decided that her eyebrows also required a coloring session, as they remained red and gave her the look of a weird creature. She read the instruction, now panicking about the possible loss of eyebrows (well, they were shapely, even the scar did not manage to disfigure them).

It was almost fun; breaking into places and playing with things, she realized apparating to an optician store. Even if the Ministry had not yet fallen, no one there would suspect a rogue wizard on the loose. She could become anonymous and live on her own, parasiting on both the worlds. The temptation felt very real, when she began trying on contact lenses. She did not exist in this world. The person who was Hermione Granger was of this world but woman was not her. Not anymore.

She set on jet blue and apparated to perfume store. Once upon a time she had read somewhere that concealing scars was tricky; the better option was to change them, presumably expand. And so she spend two more hours fixing her face until both her marks were transformed into hideous slashes that marred her face in a Fenrir Greyback way.

The she apparated to Diagon Alley and, smirking joyfully, broke into Madam Malkin's. Her new set of robes was definitely Death Eater-ish but also posh. She reasoned with herself that posh was not just another means to attracting Dolohov-

-hang on there, sweetheart, you were trying to say: not just another display of her vanity, which had somehow grown with all the years.

The posh look was not just another display of her vanity, but served its purpose: she was going to become a pure blood brat from south of France in few hours. Rummaging through her memory, she thought of all the families she had read about during her Hogwarts era, her picture memory coming in handy, and set on becoming a de Valnor. They were not exactly from the south, as their family dwelling was in Normandy, but they were quite extinct. And being the last living heir of once-prestigious family, was definitely a good invitation (well, techincally, she was gate crashing) into a Death Eater party.

'Clemence de Valnor.' she put on her best French accent and regarded the marred brunette in the mirror carefully. She would have to keep her chin up, glare at anyone who dared question her and speak as little French as possible, in case someone inquired about her accent.

And then it was time. She apparated outside Hogsmead and joined in a crowd of onlookers, keen on seeing the final fall of Bellatrix Lestrange.

She pushed and glared whether someone looked at her questioningly. She was well above that and headed straight towards a makeshift platform that had been magicked up at night. All was going well until some hand grabbed her upper arm unceremoniously.

'What is it' she snapped and turned to face her adversary.

Small, scrawny and ratlike, Peter Pettigrew looked at her suspiciously.

'Sorry to bother you, m'am, but who are you?' his eyes darted up and down, his nose moving as if he was trying to asses her identity by her smell.

'I don't think it's any of your business, vermin.' she towered, remembering her performance at Gringotts. Acting like Bellatrix Lestrange was the best way to deal around Death Eaters.

He let go of her hand but kept observing her.

'The Dark Lord had said-' Pettigrew started once again, but she never allowed him to continue. She pulled out a wand (it used to to belong to Merigold, she had picked it up after the fight and absentmindedly stuffed into her jacket, only to find it few hours earlier) and hissed 'Crucio!'

Pettigrew fell down and shrieked, causing a huge commotion. Uncertain whether this had been her best move, she stopped the curse, jutted her chin and spoke in a ringing voice.

'Never question a de Valnor's motives, vermins.'

The reaction from all around was either surprise or indifference. Luckily the Dark Git had assembled too many followers over the time to have them all know each other.

'I'm sure' she added, addressing her words only to Pettigrew, who was sobbing on the ground 'the Dark Lord will be pleased to hear that the last living heir of the most noble and ancient family de Valnor fully supports his agenda.'

With that she realized she had forgotten her fake French accent. Luckily no one paid too much heed. She overstepped Pettigrew and pushed on - and suddenly realized people were clearing out of her way, presumably fearing another outburst of her fury.

So that's what following the Dark Git looks like. Torture, degradation and temper tantrums of the upper ranks.

She had a very frontal view at the platform. There was already a crowd standing on it; the most important Death Eaters had formed a semi-circle, facing the crowd. She could see Mulciber, MacNair and others. Suddenly there was a hush. The Dark Git appeared in a cloud of dust. Behind him there were three men, a very angry looking Snape, a sour Dolohov (who sported a black eye) and a smug looking Yaxley. A woman in rags levitated behind them, her hair a bloody mess and feet bare. She was thrown to the edge of the platform, so that the crowds could see her face. The Dark Git marched towards her and stood at her sight.

'Watch this' he said in a loud, clear voice, his eyes alight with malice 'and learn. This filth is Bellatrix Black. Once my first lieutenant, now a disgraced traitor. Before she dies, she will be stripped of what once had been hers. Her husband's last name.'

Bellatrix Black trembled and her head sunk even lower.

Suddenly overcome with some unnamed feeling, Hermione peered at the woman's face - exactly the moment the Dark Git's hand grabbed the woman's hair and pulled her head up - and saw her eyes.

Hermione trembled.

'Of her wand.' the Dark Git spoke on and threw something at his feet 'As no longer she is witch, the wand had been broken.'

Bellatrix trembled with such force that had the Dark Git been not holding her, she would have toppled over.

Her huge eyes were full of such terror, that Hermione had to force her hand stiff - as not to fire a crucio at the monster.

'Now, she will be stripped of her life.' the Dark Git finished softly.


	13. Vae Victis

This was it.

Bellatrix Lestrange was no fool. She had failed her Lord and now her life was forfeit.

Yaxley forced himself on her throughout the night. It left her bleeding and feeling degraded. She had become filth. She let her mind wander, and the images of the night had arrived, flooding her with their fierceness. She tried to force them away, but they were like Dementors, forcing themselves underneath her eyelids; once again she was thrown into the nightmare of this particular night.

The Dark Lord had cast her away. And she finally felt it, the pang of pain; He had rejected her, He had abjured her.

When they dragged her to the cell, she fought like crazy, heels kicking, nails trying to claw at any surface they touched; and she screamed.

She had lost Him.

And that made her weep; when they threw her on the floor, Bellatrix Lestrange found herself weeping and screaming; she had found herself begging for the first time in her life. And then, when Yaxley arrived and tore away her skirt, she did not fight back.

She just swallowed a ball of bile that appeared in her throat and succumbed to Yaxley. She merely breathed and bled, waiting for the man to tire himself out. She would not give him the pleasure of seeing her in pain. In between every session, he would crucio her and she would scream herself hoarse. He would beat her, cut her, heal her, insult her, and then, finally once again aroused, he would force himself into her and she would bleed and fight against whimpers of pain and shame that grew inside her throat.

And when he left, just hours before sunrise and her death, Bellatrix, still half-naked, crumpled on the stone floor and closed her eyes. She had failed and she deserved to die. But the memory of her Master's hateful gaze resurrected the pain and so she found herself choking with tears she did not want to shed.

They dressed her up. A very smug Mulciber smacked in the face for good measure.

'Oh bitch' he growled at her, rolling his eyes in pleasure (he had the nasty habit of doing so every now and then) 'you've had it coming.'

She never answered, feeling suddenly very limp.

'In my opinion, you should have been given to Greyback for the night.' he added and punched her once again. This time something cracked, blinded with pain, Bellatrix tried to inhale only to find out that Mulciber's blow had broken her nose. Blood flew freely, covering her face, pooling in he throat, slowly choking her, so she opened her mouth and spat at his feet, trying to clear her airways.

'What the hell?' she looked up groggily and saw Dolly racing down the stairs, wand at ready.

'The bitch had it coming.' Mulciber growled at him, still standing beside her 'None of your business, Antonin.'

'Fool' he spat and halted in front of her 'if she dies before the Dark Lord kills her, I'm sure you'll be next.' with that, Dolohov healed her with a lazy flick of the wand, his dark eyes looking at her scrutinizingly. And then he cleared her face and shifted his gaze, staring at Mulciber with a sour scowl.

'Already in my position, eh? Icky fluffy Dolly, always trying to fill in my shoes.' she snickered at him. The fool. Biding his time to replace her. As if anyone could, His most faithful, most powerful Death Eater was irreplaceable.

But he merely glanced at her and then his eyes returned to Mulciber, who faltered finally, giving in, stepping back from his new lieutenant. But then there was another shuffle of hurried steps and Snape arrived, robes billowing and face contorted with a very livid snarl.

'What are you doing?' he demanded and Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow.

'None of your business, Snivellus. Step down.' Dolohov turned around, his back to Mulciber, who was always the wolf to growl fist but soon after succumb to the new alpha.

'Already running for the first lieutenant, Dolohov? The Dark Lord hasn't yet appointed one, for all I know.' Snape drew his wand out.

The fools. She was not dead yet, but here they stood, in a murky dungeon of Malfoy Manor, squandering like children over what had been rightfully her position. Bellatrix would very much like to sigh and shake her head, already afraid for the success of her Master's mission with idiots like them serving him, but her throat and her nose - and her head, and actually, her entire body - felt rather tentative and she would rather hold her head high for the execution than face some unexpected bodily malfunction and, say, collapse for all the world to see.

'Would you like to resolve out little disagreement with a duel? Or would you rather run and hind behind your precious potions?' Dolohov stepped forward, wand raise and posture rigid.

And then they heard another shuffle and Yaxley appeared at the top the stairs, scowling like the two men.

'What are you doing? Take her and let's go!'

'Oh look, Snivellus, another would-be first lieutenant.' Dolly, the ass, chuckled and Bellatrix felt like puking on his shoes. Just for the kicks of it.

The three men drew wands and regarded each other carefully. Yaxley, the oldest and most dull of all, finally lowered his and arched a skinny eyebrow in what probably had been an attempt at making a disdainful face, sadly, he looked like a tetanus victim.

'We can resolve it later.' Yaxley, unaware of his absurdity, tried to speak as if he was well above the whole mess 'Right now, the Dark Lord awaits us. Bring the woman up. I shall join our master and inform him of your hiccup.'

'Asshole.' Dolohov hissed at Yaxely's retreating backside.

'Antonin?' Snape sauntered towards the man 'I will personally hold you responsible for the delay.'

Greasy-hair Snivellus always behaved as if a stick had been shoved up his ass a long time ago. If the three idiots tried to replace her, soon the Dark Lord would realize the horrendous size of his tragic error. The Death Eaters would become a laughing stock. Bellatrix, slightly happier than before, lifted her head.

'I suggest you move.' she commanded them royally 'Unless you want to find yourself on the receiving end of the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse. Which I wouldn't mind.'

Dolohov almost twirled like a dumb ballerina he was, and towered above her with a very familiar expression of great fury and raised his wand. But then the pathetic happened and Snape punched him in the face.

She almost giggled. This was delightful. She would die irreplaceable.

'My Lord.' she tried to speak to Him when they finally managed to compose themselves and drag herself out of the dungeon 'My Lord.'

But he ignored her and she could not help but feel as if someone had punched her in the chest. Fighting back those treacherous tears that once again tried to emerge, her body suddenly hostile towards her will, Bellatrix lowered her had, allowing her hair to cover her face. All the air and the faint bubble of hope that arose in her chest when she saw the squandering idiots that bickered over filling in her shoes, was now gone.

Hope was always treacherous, she reasoned, trying to compose her face sufficiently. Yet she had dared to hope, silently and almost against her own reason, that the Dark Lord would somehow forgive her and become aware of her utmost importance; there was no one who could ever replace her, she knew that, because she had lived with those men for years and she knew them, better probably than they knew each other, and was painfully aware that none of them had been good enough; hiding behind a mask of insanity, comfortably dwelling within her Master's imposing shadow, Bellatrix Lestrange observed and evaluated each and every Death Eater in the Inner Circle. She had hoped her Master had done the same.

Apparently He had not.

And then she gave up, deciding simply that it would be better to resign to her fate. She never uttered a word, when they put a body-biding curse on her and levitated her up, her eyes merely sought her Master, trying to fill herself with image of Him, so that whatever fate awaited her on the other side, if there was an other side, she would take only His image with her - and nothing more.

Because there was nothing more beside Him.

They forced her on her knees and had her facing the crowd. She dropped her gaze, allowed her hair to obscure her face. She felt Him approach her, he stood by her side and addressed the faceless mob in his clear, cool voice.

'Watch this' he told the masses 'and learn. This filth is Bellatrix Black.'

Bellatrix Black? She almost shifted, surprised and slightly shaken.

But there was something more. She did not fight all these years for Him to not learn how read the signs. She could feel a battle brewing somewhere behind, a tension of something, like a collective drew of breath.

The three would-be lieutenants were ready to go at each others' throats. She tried to look at her Master and convey the warning. But he ignored the shift of her body, the mute appeal for attention, He merely carried on, His voice drilling into her mind and shattering to pieces what had been Bellatrix Lestrange.

'Once my first lieutenant, now a disgraced traitor. Before she dies, she will be stripped of what once had been hers. Her husband's last name.'

Another piece of Bellatrix shattered and almost collapsed, her treacherous body caving in like a discarded rug, but something yanked her up; His fingers pulled at her hair, forcing her head up, so that the crowds would see bear witness to her shame.

A set of eyes bore to her. Drawn at the intensity that made her body tingle uncomfortably, Bellatrix's gaze found its; what had been once utterly beautiful was now marred and utterly broken like a shattered masterpiece, the face damaged by rampant scars was turned in her direction, jet blue irises almost glued to her own, the intensity of the gaze almost familiar, yet unreadable, as if the entire intent was split between compassion and contempt. Staggered, Bellatrix felt compelled to maintain eye contact with the brunette, her thoughts a loose stream of consciousness, a mix of questions about the woman's identity and uncertainty of her intent.

'Of her wand' the shrill voice of her Master once again drilled into her mind, forcing her attention back to Him, and out of the corner of her eye, Bellatrix saw something fall, broken in two, her former instrument of destruction now destroyed itself, cast at His feet 'As no longer she is a witch, her wand had been broken.'

The tension grew once again, her jagged consciousness registered that something was amiss, yet she could not place what nor why.

'Now she will be stripped of her life.'

She almost closed her eyes, not scared but yet not wanting to see Him as he killed her, suddenly very dizzy; but instead of the two words that would bring her finality, she heard a small yelp and the crowd murmured suddenly, so she force her eyelids back up and saw her Master turn around with a vicious hiss.

She turned as well and saw it them.

The three would-be first lieutenants had chosen this precise moment to take their quarrel to another level. She had turned just in time to see Dolohov punch Yaxley in the chin, dogging at the same time a stunner that sped from Snape's wand; the red jet struck Mulciber instead and the oaf staggered backwards, colliding with Rabastan, who dropped his wand with surprise.

'Stop!' the Dark Lord's voice was filled with fury, his gaze locked on the fighters, but neither paid heed; a reeling Yaxley spitting blood and cursing Snape only to be struck by Dolohov's sectumsempra, blood instantly gushing out of his chest, red specks covering everyone in vicinity.

And then something grabbed her, pulled her down and suddenly Bellatrix toppled over and fell off the platform, her fall stopped inches above the ground; the black haired woman had been the one who had cast an arresto momentum on her. Shocked and numb simultaneously, Bellatrix watched as the woman fired a fiendyfire at the Death Eaters, an impedimenta at the crowd and then the woman turned towards her once again, as her Master howled with fury, a green flash almost blinding her, but something collided with her before the spell had done so, a body grinding her to the ground; the black haired woman pushed herself upwards moments later, her legs still straddling Bellatrix's hips, turned towards the crowd and screamed 'Confringo!', her entire body tensing with the effort and then turned once more, this time the towards the platform 'Bombarda!'

There were shrieks now, they crowd first caught by surprise, then struck with Confringo, now regained its composure and charged at the two, but then with the brunette's spell, the platform exploded, splinters and debris striking their attackers like an avalanche; the woman was once again lying on top of her; her arms were covering Bellatrix's head and she - it was, after all, a reflex - covered the woman's head with her own arms in return; something hit her, a sharp, jagged edge of something struck her arm, but she never let go.

And then she was pulled up, the woman clinging to her hand, pulling her once more, and she hear her Lord's shriek of fury, another jet of green flying towards them, but before it struck, the magical vacuum sucked her in and moments later spat her out and she came crashing, unsteady on her feet, he forehead smashing into something very hard.

'C'mon!' the female's voice was familiar, but Bellatrix was to dulled up, too numb to dwell on these assumptions, she remained limp and allowed the woman to pull her somewhere; up a small flight of stairs and she felt the air change; she was indoors and levitated on a couch.

Then she heard voices, masculine and also familiar, a growl she knew and small chuckle that also was not of a stranger. But a gawping pit arouse within her, expanding with every breath she took and she teetered on its edge but its pull was too forceful and Bellatrix collapsed into the realm of unconsciousness.

Dull pain. Her temple was pulsating and her mouth felt like a desert. Suppressing a groan, Bellatrix opened her eyes, her lids oddly heavy, and blinked with surprise. White ceiling. She blinked again, the world was still swimming around her, edges of her vision blurred and almost wavelike; nausea steadily building inside her, Bellatrix forced her head to turn and she took in the environment.

She knew the place. Groggily, she observed every single piece of furniture before the jigsaw fell into a single piece: the Mudblood's lair. Unsure whether her disgrace had been just a wickedly insane dream, just worthy of Bellatrix Lestrange's twisted mind, a thing she priced above many other, or had it been real, she licked her lips only to find her tongue almost stiff with dehydration.

Footsteps, quite heavy. A man. He must have seen her, as he moved so that he would be withing her line of vision. Rugged features, black hair and unshaven face and bright brown eyes. Dolly.

'Am I in hell?' the jibe was lost in the hoarseness of her voice, it came out almost like whimper, like a plea.

'You wish.' his answer was cold but not sneering. He merely pushed his hair back and cocked an eyebrow at her, whether a threat or smirk, she could not tell 'She will be pleased to learn you returned from that fantasy world.'

Once again everything swam around as her mind tried to comprehend with his words.

'Don't kill yourself with the effort.' he said, probably seeing the pained effort that etched on her features and she momentarily cursed herself for the weakness. 'Just wait and you'll know it all.'

Another sound of footsteps. A strange smell in the air, spicy and sharp, alerting her senses, forcing her back from the edge of consciousness. A blurry black movement, like a coil of smoke or - or a Dementor, and her mind panicked, but someone merely sat on their knees by her side, an arm pushed her upper body so that she found herself half-sitting; a liquid was forced down her throat, and she swallowed almost against her volition, but the effect was instant.

Potion. Magic. Not poison.

She blinked once again and saw the face of Severus Snape looming above her, a vertical line between his eyebrows.

'You've suffered quite a shock.' he informed her, eyes taking in every detail of her face, their scrutiny almost leaving her uncomfortable, but then Snape turned his head and spoke to someone else 'You can talk to her.'

She followed his gaze and saw the brunette, marred face and peculiar blue eyes; the woman was looking at her with an unreadable expression on her face and Bellatrix felt almost furious but was not overly sure whether this was because of the woman's gaze or her previous actions.

'Hello, Bellatrix.' the brunette's voice was familiar, sharp but not shrill, a soprano that could also be an alto. The woman walked towards her almost as if in slow motion, every movement of her body purposefully careful as if Bellatrix had been an animal that could easily scare.

The woman sat down at the edge of the sofa, just by Bellatrix left hip.

'How are you?'

'Where am I?' she decided to ignore both the painful throb of her head and the question, and stood her ground, trying to muster enough energy to glare at almost familiar stranger.

'You've been here before.' the woman merely looked around the room, as if trying to coerce Bellatrix to do the same and see for herself.

'I know. That's the Mudblood's lair. Where is she?' the last word was supposed to be laced with contempt but came out almost soft. Bellatrix, for the thousandth time these twenty four hours, cursed herself and the terrible weakness.

'Are you concerned with her well-being?' the woman, oh so annoyingly familiar yet absolutely a stranger, cocked an eyebrow and shot her a small smile, which maybe used to be pretty, but now was only deformed and almost feral.

'It would be a pity if someone else killed her in my stead.'

'Fair enough.' the woman nodded as if Bellatrix's statement meant nothing to her, her tone worthy of someone who had been discussing weather for the last hour.

And then it hit her. Snape. Dolohov. The woman. The Dark Lord.

Treason.

'Blood traitors!' the exclamation was almost a whine and Bellatrix chewed on her lower lip with such force she tasted blood on her teeth.

Someone - Dolly - snickered at that and she glared at him, trying to convey her loathing with a simple gaze, but he shrugged and looked at the woman, a mute question palpable in the air like an oncoming storm.

'No.' the woman spoke softly 'We merely saved his life. By saving yours.'

The absurdity of the statement drove her over the edge. Someone exclaimed 'Shit!' and it was the last thing she heard before darkness swallowed her senses.

Yellow light, a golden circle on the ceiling and a sensation of fever burning her body. Shivers and the harshness of a blanket, her body drenched with sweat and the vision swimming, great blurs marring the surface of reality.

She swallowed. Someone's presence, a cool liquid that burned her throat.

'Drink it, Bella.'

Snape's voice.

Blood traitors.

'How is she?' woman's voice.

'Fever. Shock. Trauma.'

Snape.

'Sleep, Bella. You'll be better in the morning, I promise.'

She wanted to tell them she was dying. 'Bullshit.' she wanted to say, but then she opened her mouth to speak, only a croak came out and she almost gagged on it and coughed - and once again plunged into unconsciousness.

Her body sore. Blinking, turning her head, her curls almost clammy against her forehead, she found herself in the presence of the woman. She was sitting in an armchair beside her couch, a book on her lap, legs crossed, ankle resting on a knee, black trousers, rather tight.

'What do you mean?' Bellatrix's voice betrayed her thoughts and the woman instantly shifted and lifted her head, blue eyes - no, dark eyes - locking with her own.

'Sorry?'

'About saving the Dark Lord?' she wanted to scowl and growl, but the question was hesitant and her voice unsteady, croaking, as if rusted with the lack of use.

'Oh.' the woman put the book on the armrest, balancing it with ease of someone who had done it many times over, and stood up. 'He's in mortal peril.'

'Why are you not protecting Him?' Bellatrix licked her lips and found them in a much better condition.

'He does not recognize the threat.' the woman sauntered towards her and came to halt when her leg brushed with the edge of the couch. She lowered herself into a kneeling position, close to Bellatrix's head, eyes never leaving hers 'He closes his eyes and blindly follows an agenda that will result in a catastrophe.'

'The Dark Lord is no fool.' she barked, her voice much stronger now.

'I never said so.' the woman shrugged and cocked her head to the side, almost as if she was asking herself some question about Bellatrix and pondering at the answer 'I merely said that he chooses not to recognize it.'

'You're rambling.' the accusation came out shrilly, like a fork scratching against the plate.

'No. I am not. Despite you'd rather have me ramble.'

'Nonsense.' she refused to take the words in, their meaning immaterial. 'If there was some threat to the Dark Lord's life, it would -' but she never managed to finish the sentence, because her own mind betrayed her, blanking out in a most unsettling manner, and so she blinked with confusion at the dark eyes woman, who held her gaze with steady reassurance 'What are you talking about?'

'He's as powerful as arrogant.' the woman answered after a short pause, her gaze almost glazed over 'And do not consider this an insult, it's merely a statement.' she almost smiled at Bellatrix, almost apologetically 'You and I, we never started on the right foot. I've just realized it.'

'Do I know you?' the answer was just inches beside her reach; Bellatrix knew she knew the woman; yet her identity was oddly outside her grasp, a sensation as annoying, as is forgiving a word during a conversation, like an orgasm that is still inches away.

'Yes.' the woman nodded.

'Mudblood?' the surprise was almost overwhelming, a sickening feeling arising within her throat, something that resembled fury, disgust, and shame.

'Yes.' she repeated.

Bellatrix swallowed and opened her mouth to say something but her voice failed her, like her body had, and she swallowed again, still unsure whether the whole situation was real or merely a confusing nightmare.

To be rescued by the Mudblood twice was like an insult to everything Bellatrix was molded into.

To be captive of the Mudblood without any way out, hunted by both her Master and his enemies, was like the very definition of humiliation and terror.

Her Master had only stripped her; if this woman had been truly the Mudblood, the situation was the very undoing of Bellatrix.

The last straw of total disintegration.

The woman never flinched, never took her statement back, her gaze still probing Bellatrix - and then suddenly her eyes widened and she saw that the woman's (the creature's) question had just been answered. She stood up from the couch and quietly stepped back.

'You will never come to terms with that, will you.' it was not a question, the Mudblood might as well been talking to herself. 'I don't ask you to. I'm asking if you decide to quit moping and get over it and prove that you're truly worthy of your mark.'

'What?' the word slipped her mouth, mind spinning in most confusing patterns.

'Are you or are you not his best lieutenant?' almost accusatory question, something coiling within the Mudblood's eyes, cold fury or a sneer of contempt, and Bellatrix swallowed once again.

'I am.' she mastered her voice regal.

'Then quit acting like a schoolgirl and prove it.'

It came like a slap; an insult so profound, Bellatrix gaped at her, mouth agape and eyes wide.

What? What? What?

'How dare you?' the growl scratched the back of her throat.

But she had been ignored.

'Are you willing to go against him - to save him? Disobey every order and the death sentence you've earned with your incompetence - and yes, I mean, incompetence, the incompetence of following wrong orders - and prove your worth? Or are you just another sniveling creature that follows even the dumbest of wishes in order to please her master?'

'What?' the repeated, fighting against the slow understanding - and the sinking feeling that came with it - of the woman's words.

'Somebody once told me, Bellatrix Black, that there is no greater courage, than to stand against your friends. Are you willing to stand against your master - to save him from his own mistakes?'

'I would do anything -' she whispered to the woman, her voice almost gone with extortion of coping.

'Will you stand with us? Or do you choose to crawl and follow the man you adore into the abyss his own follies had opened?'

'What do you mean?' she finally found the semblances of her voice and croaked.

'Bellatrix. Your master is not infallible. His errors are grievous. Their consequences will be enormous. The slaughter to come is beyond anyone's imaging. Would you rather follow erroneous orders and watch your master die because of their consequences or defy him and save him?'

'I would.' she spoke out, but she felt sick, splintered, torn and in deep pain, pain she could neither name nor locate.

'There is no greater courage than that. I was told you feared nothing. Now I know that you truly don't.'

'Tell me, Mudblood.' she was oddly moved by the creature's praise; it blazed in a fierce roar within her chest, never hearing such words from anyone, she was almost overwhelmed 'Who taught you to speak like that?' the taunt was supposed to dissipate the tension, make a little ridiculous in its pathos, so that it would become less fierce, less profound.

'Believe it or not, Bellatrix, I've led armies to battles that were long lost before they even commenced.'


	14. The Huntress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunted became the huntress
> 
> The hunter became the prey
> 
> \- Conquest, Jack White

She could not really help it.

She just kept chuckling, almost despite the gravity of entire situation. Here she was. Hermione Granger. The nerdy Mudblood. In a Muggle home. With four Death Eaters. Who were not there to hurt or kidnap her, no; who followed her command and looked at her with something that slowly began to grow into grumpy admiration.

And a wounded Bellatrix Lestrange, sorry, Black, occupied her living room sofa.

And Hermione had just fed her one of her battle prep talks, actually convincing the woman to fight for Voldemort, even though Voldemort had ordered her dead.

Yes, the world had become such a place that even dreams seemed normal, even those most twisted products her mind would sometimes fling at her seemed rather sane and ordinary, in comparison to this new situation.

An impending headache, an unlucky trait she had picked from her mother, the slow advance of migraine manifesting itself in growing throbbing in her temple, Hermione left the living room, walked outside and sat on the doorstep, disillusionment and Muggle-repelling charms ensuring her unlucky neighbors would not stumble into any of Hermione's shenanigans. She lit a cigarette and reveled in a patch of sunlight that fell directly upon her spot; were she a cat, she would purr, being human, she only blinked lazily and looked around; cars gleamed in the sun, its ray sliding across metal and glass, reflecting in billion specks of light; it was eerie and homey at the same time, like a ghost town haunted by its former occupants.

'That was pretty good.' a masculine voice, either baritone or bass, she could never tell when the fine line of voice classification was straddled, notes from both sides mixing.

She blinked and turned and saw Dolohov and his easy smile, which reminded her of Sirius Black, yet carried less smugness (she never told Harry nor she ever would, be she always had a strong dislike for the man, even though innocent and wrongly incarcerated, he was tainted with some haughtiness that was of a person victimized; the never ending story of I-force-you-to-feel-bad-about-yourself-and-me-because-I-spend-many-years-in-Azkaban-for-crime-I-never-committed-and-you-did-not-yet-look-how-well-I-am-coping), was absolutely less annoying.

'What was?' she shielded her eyes with her cigarette-free hand and he smiled again and walked towards her until his thigh was almost brushing her head; he halted and flung himself beside her, on the warm steps, legs stretched in a nearly boy-like fashion.

'The whole thing.' he looked at her, metallic brown eyes catching her, conveying somethings undertone, a strange mixture of emotions, Hermione would rather not read 'That was real good.' he repeated, his eyes now more questioning than stating.

Hermione was frozen, lost and spinning, for few seconds, what felt like infidelity was also compelling - and she finally allowed herself to lean a little closer in his direction, her nostrils filled with his scent (smoke, metal, oak, cold river, grass), and he also inched towards her, until their arms and shoulders dug into one another and they could not move less they wanted to bypass the ambiguity and head on for the obvious.

It was always this very moment, she found most appealing. Not kissing, not sex; those seconds of utmost concentration, when world would narrow into tiny fragment; world compressed into certain pieces: lips, breath, skin; the world where lips are inches apart and eyes still search for permission, when other's breath would breeze into her own face and the world was about to spin with a kiss; the tentative tension, more rewarding that the act itself; she never like the concept of plenitude or climax.

Because what follows is nothingness.

It reminded her, almost, forcibly of a Muggle painting that had her really uncomfortable; Bacchus, clad in white, sat by a table littered with platters and food, with the air of someone who had just finished an all night-long party, or was just sitting through the mad hours of dawn, when everyone is ecstatic with delirium of alcohol and late hour, staring at nothing in particular, his expression serene or sated, the epitome of plenitude and climax - yet his eyes were the eyes that had seen the abyss, or rather were the eyes of someone who carried the abyss within himself.

'Yeah.' she said, knowing she ought to reply, but was too lost inside her head to bother with more.

'Something on your mind?' he turned his head, looked at her and she returned the favor; Antonin Dolohov's - the notorious Death Eater's eyes - were merely concerned, a playful glint still present, yet pressed back by genuine... what was it? Care?

'Just lost in thoughts.' she shrugged, trying to ease it off. 'No biggie.'

'Enlighten me. Maybe we'll figure something out.' there was this smile once again, not flirtatious, friendly and she instantly returned the notion, suddenly feeling a little off with the lack of flirting, almost disappointed and, at the same time, relieved.

'Nah, some unimportant Muggle existentialist pangs in the ass. Nothing tactic and nothing that can be formed into a story.'

'Oh. Like deeps thoughts on meaning of life? Yeah, imagine I get them too.' despite the words that could be harsh, Dolohov was smirking rather softly and then it hit her like a hammer to the head.

It was so easy. To deprive them of their humanity, dehumanize enemies, mark them all psychopaths for following a man whose inferiority complex led to a disaster. Yet it always had been that way: behind every monster there was a human being, something molded by hurt, misshapen by emotions, stuck in its anger or pain. And she felt a pang of pity; balancing on fine thin line between becoming a monster herself and preserving her humanity, Hermione was no more a stranger to the odd heaviness of a Death Eater's existence.

'May I ask you a question?' the words left her mouth in an unfamiliar slur.

'Sure.' he shrugged, looked away for moments, eyes squinted, then turned once again and looked at her.

'Why did you join him?'

The silence was heavy, yet there was no notion of anger on his face. Dolohov looked deep in thoughts, brows furrowed and mouth suddenly thin, some amount of stress and, maybe, sorrow, showing on his face.

'I don't know anymore.' he said very softly, as if each word was excruciatingly painful to utter 'His ideas, you know, were grand. One of those that get in your head. The more you dream about doing something grand about your life, the easier it is for you to fall for an ideology. I was your age, I think, when I landed in Azkaban for me beliefs. I felt like a hero, you know?' his gaze locked with hers and suddenly he looked very vulnerable, like a boy lost in men's war 'The martyr for a righteous cause, his most loyal and most fierce, the lieutenant that was eager to do anything to prove his mettle.' he shook his head, swallowed, Adam's Apple moving very visibly, the short hair on his throat and chin moving with it, but he carried on, husky and hurt 'When you come from a world where you are met with endless expectations, a world you feel you must preserve, because it's diminishing right in front of your eyes - because it is, intermarriages, dwindling magic, you know, sons of first cousins prone to insanity, the slow decay of grand names - and a man comes who says he'll do right about us, help us save the splendor of a world already gone, it's almost easy to join, to kill, to torture. First kill - you puke. Second kill - your soul shatters. Third - you keep questioning yourself as to whether this truly is right. The more you kill, the more confused you are. And then you simply - I don't know, I can't wrap my head around it.'

'It's easy' she said, tears she could no more shed stinging in the corners of her eyes, her body torn between reaching for him and moving away, so she kept very still 'to... embrace the opposite emotion.'

'Yeah.' Dolohov nodded 'What was compassionate, becomes cruel.'

'Why not anymore?' she hurried, her chest expanding with a painfully intense emotion.

'Wish I could say because I've changed or cracked. Would be lie, though. I'm trapped, you know. I observe my actions as if I were someone else, yet I do what I do and no more feel anything about it; I've alienated a part of myself it seems. His course of action' his hand gestured in the air 'is illogical. The purity crusade, no matter how grand it felt, was just a folly, a fool's dream. Guess we just wanted to shock the world once again and go out in a puff; a guerrilla against history itself, as spectacular as hopeless. But now it's suicide and a path to destruction.'

'When I kill, I don't feel anything.' she said, words spilling from her mouth almost despite her will or consent 'I know it's wrong, I get the aftershocks and know I should feel bad, even though I don't. Transgression.'

'What?' he looked at her with surprise 'You've lost me now.'

'You know - hang on, I'm gonna smoke, it's easier to speak about life if you have a cigarette around -

'One for me too?'

She handed him the pack.

'So, about this transgression...?' he lit the cigarette and shot her a small smile.

'You know. There was this Muggle a couple of centuries ago. He wrote a manual of sorts. Through torture, humiliation, sexual abuse - and the oppressor was honor bound to accept and receive exactly the same treatment as his victims - one was supposed to, how do I put it, outgrow his humanity. You know, push the borders until you reach the last border of what makes you human - like going through a mirror. What is on the other side, nobody knows. But it's this pull of embracing the extremity, pushing forward until you undo the very structure of reality. The whole thing - it's as deep as totally fucked up - is grand in that sick way. Anyway, I know about the killing. First it breaks your heart, then you cross to the other side of what you feel, and you actually enjoy it, first the pain you feel when killing, then just the act.'

'Mudblood. What are you talking about?' the voice that spoke from behind their backs made her jump. She turned wildly and saw a very sour Bellatrix standing in the door frame, staring at them with obvious contempt.

'How long you've been standing there?' she asked, feeling like a deer in the headlights.

'Not long, if you're worried about your dirty secrets. Just something about crossing the other side of what you feel - is that some Muggle thing, by the way?'

'Bellatrix. The ray of light, as always.' Dolohov also turned, out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw a very pronounced scowl on his face.

'Shut up, Dolly. You should know better than associate yourself with filth. What's that, you've become a Mudblood lover? Or this one's' she shot Hermione a dirty look, lips drawn in a thin line of obvious distaste.

'None of your business, Bella dear.' he leered at her 'Unless you feel jealous?'

'I'd rather mate with a pig.' another dirty look shot towards Hermione.

'What is it you want?' she let out an annoyed sigh 'You came here to socialize or you just want something?'

'Socialize? With the likes of you? Are you mental?'

'I've thought so. What do you want then?'

Bellatrix sighed and lifted her gaze to the heavens, as if silently complaining about a stupid child or someone's erratic behavior, almost praying for the necessary patience, and then stared at her, charcoal eyes glued to her own, probing, testing.

'I need to cleanse myself.' she finally admitted and sounded like a queen announcing she has complied to the conquering army's request.

'Let me finish my cigarette and I'll show you. OK?

'Pray for my patience, while you test it with your petty Muggle cig-a-rets.' Bellatrix looked almost oddly composed, her expression rather bored than aggressive.

The woman who lashed out almost on minute's basis, was now probably too weary to throw insults, scream, or try to tackle her every time. There was an air of defeat around her, of course, neither of the women would ever acknowledge its presence, at least not vocally.

Forcing herself to ignore Bellatrix, she turned her back once again, the woman merely emitting a 'Tsk. Tks.' of disapproval at the notion, presumably affronted by the 'audacity of a Mudblood'.

They finished smoking in silence, Bellatrix like an ominous shadow, the Boggart in the closet, inevitable, unmentionable yet nagging at their minds.

'Antonin? Would you gather all the guys for later? We need a chitchat.' she asked him nearly in a whisper, and he nodded and winked at her. Getting to their feet, they once again scanned the area, but everything was tranquil, if not eerily still - as if a storm was slowly brewing, sucking in all the air.

Slightly fazed, Hermione motioned at Bellatrix to follow her, and stole another peak and Dolohov, who had a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth; she led the way and showed her the bathroom, the woman once again standing in the door frame, hips canted, eyes disapproving. She explained her how the shower worked and put a towel on the washing machine that stood beside the bathtub and usually served as a table, its flat structure almost begging to be abused in such manner.

When her parents had still been Grangers, the top of the washing machine would be covered with mother's cosmetics, towels, father's books and random items they would sometimes accidentally drag to bathroom. Hermione always had feared she would, one unlucky day, stumble upon a used condom or something equally distressing.

'Why are you staring at that thing?' Bellatrix's shrill voice felt like a bucket to the head. She flinched and turned to face the woman.

'It's a washing machine.' she brushed off the question.

'I don't care as long it's not some weird Muggle contraption that will -'

'If you worry for your safety, do not. It's safe.' she cut in, much briskly than she intended, her thoughts still filled with a stinging longing for the warm haze of those days.

'Mudblood.' Bellatrix's mind probably was swimming in similar waters, her black eyes looking at her with something that resembled suspicion 'You live here by yourself?'

'Yeah.'

'Your Muggle parents? What's become of them?' black eyes narrowed and chin protruded challengingly.

'They're gone.' the voice was weaker that it should have been, she swallowed and stared back, defiance rising like bile in her throat.

'Dead, are they?' Bellatrix's snicker was the last straw.

She took a deep breath and forced herself not to attack the woman who had invaded her privacy and her past in such brusque manner, a brute among other brutes, the cruel, sick creature that clung to pain and reveled in slaughter.

The woman who had been so badly broken, that she became twisted - to survive; like bones that break in too many places and never regrow properly, leaving the person crippled, disfigured.

'No.' she steadied her voice and emptied her eyes - she did not have to see her reflection, to know she had succeeded, it was palpable in the way her body eased up, emotions once again overruled by sheer will 'I send them away. None of your concern as to where. You know why. Now, if you'll excuse me -' she tried to make a beeline for the exit, but Bellatrix moved and blocked the frame.

'Well?' her eyebrow shot up as she halted in front of the older woman.

'Oooh! Icky Muddy send mummy and daddy away scared that the big bad Death Eaters kill them. So sweet I nearly sickened myself, flith.' whatever flinched in Bellatrix's eyes - and it did, Hermione was on top of her classes not for being a boring study-it-all, but for the ability to observe and absorb within seconds - was now gone, replaced by the all-familiar contempt.

'No.' her voice almost cracked, fury coiling within her like serpent ready to strike 'Scared she'd have to kill all the big bad Death Eaters and their families, if they had done so, and become like them herself.'

Bellatrix - once again it lasted for a heartbeat - looked surprised, then cackled softly.

'You? You'd have the guts?' she almost doubled over with her mad laughter, whether caught up in her act or truly amused unknown to anyone, probably herself as well.

'Test me.' Hermione answered through gritted teeth and forced her way out of the bathroom, brutally brushing against the woman's skinny shoulder, bumping her in the frame and earning an angry yowl.

The meeting took place in the kitchen. They conjured chairs and sat around the table, both Death Eaters and Hermione familiar with her taking the top seat. It felt almost like all the Resistance meetings she had held throughout all years, only difference being her parents' house and new people. Dolohov sat to her right, Bellatrix to her left (she was the only one to scowl, frown and huff at Hermione's place of sitting, but when Dolohov claimed the first lieutenant's seat as his, she fumed), beside Antonin there was Snape, beside Bellatrix Rowle and Scabior.

'Right' she said, her voice instantly slipping into commanding officer's 'we're meeting tonight in a rather small squad. There are two things that I shall discuss with you during this meeting. First the formalities. Being the first Death Eater to approach me on his own volition' her eyes met Snape's and the man nodded his agreement 'Dolohov, who's proven himself invaluable, will become my first lieutenant, Severus Snape his second. In my absence you answer to Dolohov, in his, to Snape. Clear?' they all nodded their consent apart from Bellatrix, who kept glaring intimidatingly, probably trying to convey her disgust and anger at being omitted 'Second, I wish to debrief you on the current state of affairs and plan our next moves. We have two main objectives -as of now -and they are intertwined. We've lost Draco and Narcissa Malfoy, who are invaluable assets to our case. Objective is simple: we find them. While we do so, we need to track traitors down - you shall all see what I'm talking about quite soon - and enroll more people. What we need is an army' gasps all around the room, Bellatrix's eyebrows losing themselves in her hair 'Sadly, the Muggles are aware of our existence. And hostile. We're not invading Muggle world, that's a fool's dream' her gaze sough out Dolohov's who send her the smallest of smile, approval written all over his face 'We're merely going to destroy all their intelligence on us - and all their means to destroy us. It's a difficult thing, because we have to act in and through the shadows, without alerting anybody to what's really happening.'

'What about rescuing the Dark Lord, Mudblood? You forgot? Or were these just empty words to get my attention?' Bellatrix's hatred was very pronounced now and Hermione stared at her, flabbergasted before she understood - and pitied.

Here sat a woman betrayed so many times, she suspected a trap anywhere she went. Even her Lord had led her astray - but since he probably had been the only one bothering to keep his cover of safety intact for a long time, she trusted only him, even disgraced and discarded.

'May I?' Dolohov asked Hermione, his tone most official and detached, the tone of first lieutenant who has to handle an insubordinate soldier.

'Please do.' she nodded her consent, rather curious.

'This is rescuing the Dark Lord. Are you thick enough not to get it, Bellatrix?'

'What Muggle-loving nonsense is that?' Bellatrix cackled, her head tilted and pupils dilated in a display of mock insanity 'And here I am, considered crazy by the whole lot of you!'

'If the Dark Lord goes against the Muggles, his fate is sealed.' Hermione spoke out, her tone cold and commanding, the tone she used to drown all scuffles between her own men 'If we prevent the war, he stands a chance.'

'That's like - stupid, childish - it's like - It's like bloody Divination, you idiots!' Bellatrix almost leaped out of her chair, this time evidently furious 'If you disobeyed the Dark Lord's order just to - play like - just to drag me into this lunacy, then you're very well -I'm out, I'm going to hand myself in and disclose your location.'

'Sit down, Bellatrix.' she rarely used it, this voice. It reminded her too much of Voldemort's. Yet it came out her mouth, cold, ringing, almost disembodied, the order so sharp, it cut the air like knives. And they all reacted like any other person who had ever heard it, they shuddered, uncomfortable with its metallic ring. Even Bellatrix froze, her eyes wide and suddenly lost either for words or action.

'I have decided to avoid all the prep talk.' she said in her normal, business-like voice, the feeling of absolute domination leaving her body, dissipating through all her pores 'Instead, I'll show you the whole thing.'

She flooded them with images. The Battle of Hogwarts in full sway and sudden explosion. Tanks advancing. Voldemort's fury as he flung himself in merciless attack on the oncoming troops, Bellatrix at his right, cackling in mad joy. The sudden bullet and Voldemort's lifeless body falling to the ground, Bellatrix's wail of fury, her capture. The Slaughter of Hogwarts. Scabior's beheading.

She watched him to see his reaction; he looked faint and sick, eyes bulging with unmistakable terror, his complexion suddenly wax-like and green.

She showed them the Pacification of Lyon and rains of napalm from the sky. The rescue of Bellatrix and Narcissa. Draco's and Ginny's wedding, held in a deserted bunker in Northern Ireland. The Battle of Paris, where French and English wizards stood together for the first time; the heap of bodies it resulted in. The EMP.

She saw Dolohov's face as he watched himself unable to do magic, waving his wand to no avail, only to be brought down by a bullet the next second, his face eternally frozen in what looked like the ultimate surprise.

The Assassination of The Queen. The Raid on Parliament.

She watched herself throwing a grenade into a room full of ministers and felt it, once again, the bitterness rising in her mouth.

Attacks on police stations, skirmishes on the streets; her borderline insane raid at a government facility - watching it, she felt as if she was watching Mission Impossible instead of her own life - and setting free its unlucky inhabitants. The loss of contact means, the flight of continental wizards, their rallying with her.

She showed them Ireland; the mushroom of doom in the sky; she relived the conversation held in the cave - the one where remaining Muggle-borns explained the idea behind nuclear weaponry.

She heard an extract of her own speech.

You are free men. If you want to flee, no one will stop you. I, however, ask of you now: will you fight with me? There will be no victory. Only death. But at least we'll die on our feet. Unconquered - merely killed. Free - to shape your own fate.

Their answer, the sharp response that rung with pride of those who are ready to die:

We're with you. Now and forever.

The Last Stand. Draco's sacrifice. The bullet that hit her; the jet blue sky and trembling, bloodied hands that held a wand and a stone, dry lips muttering over and over again the portkey incantation. The glorious sight of Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile loaded with nuclear fury tearing through the sky, its beauty incomparable to anything else. The explosion, the sensation of burning, the blinding light and the roar, the force of impact shredding her body - and the activation of portkey.

The show ended with her crashing into Charity Burbage.

Then she moved to current events; escape, kidnapping, hospital, Bellatrix's rescue, Merigold, the drive back, apparition to the motel, the discovery of treason, the flight, the attack, the chopper and the Malfoys' disappearance, interactions with Bellatrix - and the decision, to jump the leap of faith.

The silence was heavy.

She watched them.

They were stunned.

And then the spell was broken. Scabior stood up shakily from his seat and vomited all over his part of the table, his robe, shoes, the floor.

'Now you know what we're up against.' she said, trying to sound composed and uncaring.

'Yes.' Dolohov's ashen face turned towards her, his eyes suddenly huge and dark 'What do we do?'

'I've had an idea.' she admitted softly 'But it's rather bad.'

'Go on, Hermione.' Snape added, speaking up for the first time this day 'Whatever it is, I'm with you. Now and forever.' his mouth tugged slightly with a smile that was inscrutable.

'You put the Trace on my wand. This wand.' she pulled it out and laid on the table in front of her 'And I will get myself snatched.'

'What?' there was an uproar as people voiced their surprise.

'While Snape goes on a propaganda mission, rallying people to our cause - yes, show them your memories, you know which- ' she send him a quick glance and he nodded, thin-lipped and sullen 'You'll be my rescue team.'

'What if you get separated from the wand? While you rot in some madman's cage, it could be taken anywhere.' Dolohov protested vehemently.

'This would be more than perfect.' she smiled at his distress, trying to look reassuring 'Because, as of now, my wand is more important than me. You see, wherever it goes, it will go to where Ollivander is. And he is essential, if we want to thwart them.'

'It is a sound plan. With one major drawback.' Snape spoke, his voice soft 'If Burbage indeed is the traitor you think she is, she'll know it's a trap. She won't fall for it and make sure either you die or are sent somewhere were no one will be able to rescue you.'

'Indeed.' she nodded 'But thankfully, we have Bellatrix among us.'

'What?' both Snape and Dolohov shuddered.

'Madam Black' she addressed the woman with a smirk 'I hope you'll corner and attack me in some public space. Public enough to attract Muggle authorities.'

'With a pleasure, Muddy.' the cruel sneer that appeared on her lips was almost distressing, cold hatred burning in her eyes.

'You see' she addressed the room 'I was in such a hurry, I never told Charity where we're going. She had no clue we were rescuing Bellatrix.'

'Besides' she added in an afterthought 'there is a slight chance I will end up with the Malfoys. If we're lucky, there aren't enough facilities, as of yet.'

'Very well. What about you? Is that some kind of stupid Gryffindor act of valor?' it was Snape, his face growing gaunter and gaunter with each passing minute. 'Noble sacrifice?'

'Nah' she waved her hand, earning few smirks 'I'm kinda past that. We'll break out.'

'You say it like it's an easy thing.' Dolohov objected, his hands nervously scraping against the table.

'I haven't mentioned it in the memory I showed you. But I was caught myself, early during the War. Ginny and Narcissa led the rescue mission, while Draco was leading the backup squad. With luck, I'll end up in the same place. It's magically warded, some sort of Secret Keeper Oath mixed with Fidelius Charm, I can't comprehend its location - even the memory is repressed, I barely got some smithereens of it, mostly pictures that don't make much sense, bah, I have to focus really hard to even remember the memory of it - but maybe, luckily, I'll be able to break myself out. If I focus enough I might remember more. And you know that what enhances a memory is reliving the situation.'

'You see, this is our advantage. My memory might be the key to our victory.'

And she smirked at them, a fully blown smirk on her face.

A calm night, chirping sounds from neatly-trimmed hedges, crescent moon hanging in the sky, the atmosphere of midsummer's night. Hermione sat on the steps and smoked, staring ahead and not really seeing anything at all.

Memory. Such a tender thing. Easy to manipulate, easy to crack, easy to snack.

'Mudblood.' a husky voice returned her from her musings. She did not even have to turn and look to know who was standing behind her.

'Bellatrix.' she acknowledged the woman calmly 'How can I help you?'

'You're using those cig-a-rets?'

'Yes.' she nodded, her back still turned to the woman.

There was an air of uncertainty around them. It was not unpleasant.

'Your plan is mad.' a grunt of disapproval.

'Maybe.'

'You're insane, Mudblood. You are insane past any sanity checkpoint. You will rot away somewhere there. We should strike. Strike now, strike hard; does preemptive strike ring a bell?' slow rise of fury.

'Yes.'

'We should strike them before they're ready.'

'No.'

Silence.

'It is bad.' Bellatrix's voice grew closer and the woman sided with Hermione, standing on the top of the stairs, canted hips and a sour expression.

Its sourness was almost tentative, as if the woman was looking for the proper expression but could not find it, so instead she resigned to something she felt familiar with.

'The future, I mean.' she added, probably presuming Hermione was too dumb, being a Mudblood and filth, to comprehend.

'Yes.'

'What's with the monosyllabic responses, eh? Cat got your tongue, Mudblood?' the jibe was instant and prominent, yet almost defensive in its outburst.

'I've talked enough, I think.' the cocked her head and gazed at the woman standing beside.

'I hate your Muggle neighborhood! she hissed 'All I want to do is blow it all up! Icky Bella hurting Muddy's playfriends!' she snickered and cackled, tongue moisturizing her lips.

'Ohm.' she said, any other response lost on her. 'Well, don't.'

'Why not? Icky Bella luvs her damage! And Muggles deserve to die.'

'Would you go after pure blood housewives? And boring blokes with silly jobs?'

The question caught her off her guard.

'No. Maybe. Why?' Bellatrix looked at her as she had gone mad.

'Because this' she gestured with the hand she held her cigarette with it, the tip of blurred by the movement until it was no longer a speck but a small reddish ray 'is its Muggle counterpart. We're not really that different, at least not on this level. We're all equally petty and narrow-minded - and heroic and good or bad.'

'Nonsense.' Bellatrix snapped but did not carry on.

'We're all humans.' she looked at the woman steadily 'Nothing more but mere mortals whose dreams usually are bigger than their abilities. We're all as lost and sad as each and every one of us. There were many Dark Lords throughout the history, magical and Muggle. Now, they're just dust in the wind, a memory turned into a tale, repeated so often it becomes a lie.'

'That's the type of Muggle nonsense the Dark Lord will eradicate once he is victorious, silly creature. Before embracing his destiny. Immortality.'

'He will never be immortal.' her words were no louder than a breath, but Bellatrix heard them nonetheless - and snarled.

'You think your precious Potter will stop him?'

'No.' she looked up, once again locking her eyes with Bellatrix's 'Nor is it important.'

'What. Do. You. Mean. Stupid girl?' Bellatrix's face was contorted with the same fury she had seen so many times.

'He may achieve' she shrugged 'eternal life. He may achieve immunity to sickness or aging or most spells. That's not immortality, though.'

'What nonsense is that? Tell me, then, tell me what is this thing -immortality?'

'Immortality is to never die.'

'What?'

'Something that may never die, be it by spell or age or weapon or any other means, because it is outside of death and time; this is immortality and nothing else.'

'What?' Bellatrix repeated, apparently gob-struck.

'Whatever had been born within time, cannot transcendent outside it.I'm sure you're familiar with the theory that eternity is simply being outside time?'

'Is this some Muggle- ?' Bellatrix sighed in disapproval, not even bothering to finish her sentence.

'I'm quite sure a wizard had agreed with that statement, sometime in the early medieval. I've ran across a text long time ago.'

'Probably a Mudblood. Carry on.'

'Look, Bellatrix. Let's say... the gods. You're familiar with mythologies? Times were that we shared them alike.'

'I'm not the bookworm like your petty self, but yes.' a snarl, contempt mixed with interest, interest tainted with the sensation of its wrongness (a pure-blood can't be interested in Mudblood's words, surely that was the line of thoughts).

'Fine. Then look. Where they immortal? Was Odin immortal? Did he die?'

'During Ragnarok, yes; but before -?' obvious discomfort coloring her voice, Bellatrix shifted.

'Doesn't matter when. Only matters he did.'

'Then fine, by your definition he did not possess the gift of immortality, Mudblood, but you're twisting my words -somehow.'

'Am I? It's called logic, you know? Something most of your merry folk refuse to apply.'

'Logic is for the weak. Why would a wizard who can create things and change things by merely a flick of his wand, a wish, and a talent need logic?'

'Because it's humane.' the answer was fierce, fiercer than she intended to 'I'm sure we disagree here the most' she carried on, much calmer now 'where you would claim power, I would claim knowledge because power without knowledge is barren, like a child playing with -with -shit.'

'Silly Mudblood lost her words.' the familiar coot of disdain.

'Dumbledore' her voice felt raw like all the passion burned it and scorched 'believed love to be greatest trait of mankind. What makes a man great, is his ability to love, he would say. I disagree. Love makes us silly and reckless and erratic -and cruel, because we only see the object of our intentions. You'd probably say power. I, however, say awareness. The ability to think in abstract. The gift of overruling chaos. We, mankind, are capable of defeating chaos, Bellatrix. By creating order.'

Silence.

'We're nothing, Bellatrix. You and me and your Dark Lord and all the Dark Lords in the history -we're nothing. A blink of an eye and we're gone, as insignificant, as all those people that walked and lusted and loved before us. Even the gods have died -in the end.'

Her own voice was now almost soothing, a lullaby of impending finality like a balm to all the tension.

'The gods of Olympus, the gods of Asgard, they were eternally youthful. But they could die. They could be felled by superior magic or power. Immortality, pure and undiluted, is simply outside of human grasp. Because whatever dwells within time, is bound by time. And time, Bellatrix, means endless possibility; Ouroboros, the endless chain of action and reaction. No man can undo it, we were all born into it, we are all trapped within the same circle. And all that remains of all that, one day, will be dust in the wind. All that there is, ever was and ever will be, is now


	15. Days of Thunder

He paced around his cell for the tenth time, restlessness making him almost giddy.

At first he tried to keep track of time, but soon (was it hours? days? or already weeks?) everything merged into a bleak streak, a constant of white walls and bright ceiling light, almost blinding if one looked up, meals served on paper (was it paper?) plates, white and blunt cutlery wrapped in a napkin.

It was not scary. It was not like his Father's dungeon. The opposite of darkness, murkiness and rusty chains.

It was terrifying.

And alien. Perfectly sterile, devoid of any smells; a cage of three concrete walls and one made of glass (of course, he had tried to break it on numerous occasions, but to absolutely no avail), a bunk bed, a closet with toilet and a shower on the side -and the sense of constant observation.

When they brought him in, he was unconscious. He woke up in this cell, dressed in cotton dungaree, white socks and matching slippers, a metal band around his wrist. He raged and screamed and attacked the glass wall. When he bloodied his hands, hidden doors on the side opened with a hiss and three men in green overalls marched in, escorted by another trio of security guards clad in some sort of armor (at least that's how he classified their garb). The security guards held him, faces motionless and void of any expression, while the men in overalls cleaned his wounds and applied some kind of lotion to them.

Then one of them pulled out an unidentified object.

'Don't worry, son.' he said 'It's a syringe.'

The sharp end of it pierced his skin, albeit not very painfully and suddenly Draco Malfoy felt almost ecstatic -and very docile. He spend a long time lying on his bed, arms and legs limp, a small smile playing on his lips.

Then he learned that every time he would become aggressive or otherwise non-cooperative, they would come and sedate him. He chose a different tactic. He would move as little as possible and try not to attract any unwanted or disastrous attention.

One thing worried him the most - the fate of his Mother. He had not seen her, he had not talked to her, truth be told, he was unsure whether she was still alive. And that thought kept pushing him over the edge. He would dream now, see her in great peril or suffering at the hands of men in green overalls, probed with unknown items or begging him to come and rescue him.

And then a team of men in overalls arrived, supported by security, followed by a young and rather pretty woman with short, blond hair. He backed until his spine was pressed firmly against the wall, feeling a little embarrassed by his actions.

The pretty woman smiled at him. She was wearing a skirt and a white coat which was left unbuttoned and Draco could see some creamy kind of jumper underneath her garb.

'What's your name?' she asked, a strange item in her hand and a notebook in the other.

'Draco. Draco Malfoy. Where's my Mother?' he blurted and bit his tongue, knowing that he should not have said the last part.

'See. I told you they're related.' one of the men in green overalls said to another, but the woman raised her hand, this long, black item between her fingers, silencing them.

He watched the item, uncertain and wondering whether this was some kind of a Muggle wand. She saw his gaze and smiled once again.

'This is a pen.' she said, her voice soft and almost friendly 'We write with it. What do you write with?'

'Quills.' he mumbled, almost stumbling upon the word.

'Quills?' she repeated and then nodded and wrote something down.

'Miss -' he started lamely and cleared his throat.

'You may call me doctor Perkins.' she said, tilting her head to the side 'What was it that you wanted to ask me, Draco?' She mispronounced his name, making it sound like 'Dreko.'

'I was wondering -I'm worried - about my Mother's whereabouts.'

'She's with us.' the answer was smooth, almost as if the entire conversation was held in a bar, a bottle of Butterbeer resting on a table 'She's fine. She said to give you her regards.'

'Regards?' he felt incredulous 'What do you mean?'

'Oh, your mum is highly cooperative, Dreko. I'm quite sure she simply meant that you should stop your childish sulking and indulge us a little bit.' her smile was off now. He realized with a jolt that it resembled the ones of Umbrige, all saccharine and lies.

'My Mother' he accentuated the word, trying to convey that Narcissa Malfoy was not some mum but a proper mother 'would never do such a thing. Anyway, what is it that you want of me?'

'We simply want to learn a little more about your world. Nothing too rash, nothing too personal, research only.'

'Why? What do you want of - as you put it - my world?'

'You have been' now she was speaking slowly and softly, as if addressing a confused child 'living in seclusion and secrecy for centuries, right under our noses. You're neighbors, whether you like it or not. And now, that some of you have revealed themselves to us, we want to establish a bond between our two... nations, for the lack of a better word' she shot him another smile and it was genuine, as if the woman truly believed in the things she was saying.

All saccharine and lies.

'How come I ended up in a cage? That's not very bonding.' he shot back, a wave of cold sweat washing over his body. He had to treat carefully now.

'Necessary precaution. You've created quite a mess. We'd rather have you contained than exploding things around with your -?'

'Wand?' he finished for her and almost punched himself in the face. He was not ready for that. Those people, they had no magic and never used Legilimency to invade one's mind, nor Veritaserum or some other potion, therefore they skilled themselves with extracting information by means of conversation. While he awaited torture or other forms of interrogation he expected, they had him speaking of things he should never discuss with them by asking simple, innocent questions.

Clever. Clever and terrible, for it's hard to fight against something you're not prepared for.

'Precisely.' she smiled and glanced at a watch on her left wrist 'Goodness, it's late.' she looked at him and nodded her head, as if answering some unasked question 'I must get going. I loved our little chat, Dreko. I'm sure we're going to have one soon. Ciao!'

With that, she turned around and marched out, followed by men in green overalls and security.

He sank onto the bed, sprawled on his back and covered his head with his hands. This was bad.

The next (was it a day?) time they came, one of the security men approached him and put a black bag on his head.

'Sorry, son.' he said, his voice detached and formal but not unpleasant 'Nothing personal, but we need to take you someplace.'

He stood him up and grabbed him by his elbow, the suit soon followed by another men. They walked him somewhere, a guard holding his arm on both sides. He tried to count the turns, left, right, left, but soon got lost in an unfamiliar pattern. Then it was down, a lift took them somewhere and then came to halt with w small dingle. He heard the doors slide open and they walked him even further.

Suddenly they came to a halt, a rough pull removed the bag; Draco blinked, startled and blinded with bright lights. It was a spacious room, he noted. A bed stood in its middle, a strange apparatus consisting of tubes and needles stood beside it, other objects were lined against walls. Draco gulped.

A balding man in white coat appeared almost out of nowhere, linen pants and a very sunken face.

'Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy. My name is doctor Walker.'

'Pleased to meet you, sir.' his manners were almost like second skin; the more he feared, the politer he would become, it was a habit his Father had - literally - beaten into his mind.

'What a polite kid you are.' the man smiled but the smile never reached his eyes; when he gazed into them, he felt a cold, clammy hand of sheer panic grip his stomach in its iron clutches. For these eye were like molten iron; cold and sharp, piercing and almost inhumane. A strange light shone in them, something that resembled malicious intent -or inborn cruelty.

'These are my associates.' the man carried on, nonplussed by Draco's paling face, and pointed towards two other men, one was very tall with short blond hair and a square jaw, the other wore glasses and his hair was black and combed back, almost slick and shiny in the light 'Doctor Compton.' The man with slick hair nodded, his bespectacled eyes almost glued to Draco, their expression almost vampiric in their hunger. 'And doctor Wesker.' The blond man openly leered at Draco, his expression rather vicious.

Draco's knees almost buckled. He forced down a whimper of panic and steadied himself. The three men regarded him, almost judgmentally, as if already testing him. Finally doctor Walker nodded and smiled once again, his lips pale and thin.

'If you would be so kind as to undress.' seeing Draco's widening eyes, he added rather soothingly 'No need to fret, young man. We only wish to perform a standard checkup. Of course, there's no need to remove your underwear. Everything is fine.'

With trembling hands, Draco undid the buttons of his dungaree, pulled the top part down and then stepped out his pants, standing in white knickers, socks and slippers. The air was cool and he shivered, goosebumps erupting on his skin. The doctor motioned for him to step closer 'Now, if you would kindly sit down.' the man said, pointing at the bed.

'Doctor Walker? Shouldn't we restrain him?' the blond man, Wesker, asked, his eyebrows slightly raised.

'No need, doctor Wesker. I'm sure he'll be on his best behavior.' silver-iron eyes met his own 'Won't you?'

Draco nodded hastily.

'See? I told you.' doctor Walker did not look at Wesker, his eyes still set on Draco's shivering form 'He's rather skinny for his age. How old are you, boy?'

'Seven-seventeen.' despite his best effort, Draco stuttered, his teeth chattering freely now. His stomach lurched as if he had swallowed living snakes, now coiling in his intestines.

Memories of what Hermione had told them began flooding him. Experiments. Torture. Experiments. Death.

He shook even stronger, all his faux courage forlorn.

'Doctor Wesker? Proceed with evaluation.' Walker stepped away from Draco and marched towards strange equipment lined by the wall. Eerie lights shone from what resembled paintings, only that in stead of people or landscape, there were aisles of numbers appearing on them, green and somehow harsh. Draco forced his attention the blond man, who approached him cautiously, his body a towering mass of white coat and straw hair. Wesker stopped before he reach him and opened an iron drawer that stood nearby. He pulled out a box and out of the box a pair of gloves, that were blue and made of some strange material. He put them on and finally walked over to Draco.

'Don't move.' his accent was strange, a little harsher and rougher.

His gloved-clad hand reached to his face, the other fished an object out his chest pocket; it resembled a pen, only that suddenly it started emitting light. Wesker's fingers pulled his eyelids and the beam of light blinded him momentarily.

'Look to your left. Now right. Up. Down. Good.' he stood away.

The shining object disappeared back in the pocket and large hands cupped his jaws.

'Any diseases in childhood?' he was pressing now, his hands moving in some pattern Draco could not make out.

'No.' he said.

'Chickenpox? Mumps? Rubella? Measles?'

As Draco shook his head, the doctor straightened up and regarded him for a long while.

'Do you even know what these are?' he asked and Draco saw, out of the corner of his eye, that the two other men turned in his directions, their eyes set on him. Something was off, yet he could not place nor comprehend it.

'N-n-no sir.' he stammered, cursing his weakness and the display of fear he was putting on.

'Very well.' Wesker breathed, something greedy appearing in his eyes 'Let us proceed.'

He was probed, and his mouth was opened (a wooden stick was thrust inside his mouth, gagging him), then something cold examined his chest, then some shoulder strap that clenched with a hiss (while Wesker looked at some watch).

Then a syringe was forced into his inner arm, drawing blood and Draco paled even more.

There were more tests. He was shown pictures and spots and he had to say what did he see in them, there written tests (there are three stars here, the first one has two arms, the second four, the third eight, draw the fourth star with a proper amount of arms and watch those marbles, see how they reshape, now, shape them the way that will suit the pattern and if three times two is six and six times three is eighteen and eighteen times two is thirty six, how much is thirty six divided by six?), and the some questions (Do you have doctors? Do you have hospitals? Do you go to school?). These questions he refused to answer, so once they grew tired of his constant refusals, they send him back, telling him he was to return here the next day.

They would test him now very often, sometimes it was the three of them, sometimes Walker solo -but the times with Wesker, were the most scary one. The blond man was relentless, testing him, scanning his body with some devices that scared him, tubes were thrust into his body, even a hand was pushed into his backside, moving slowly as if trying to find something. Then they performed something called bronchoscopy; they injected him with a substance that made him almost unconscious and Wesker put something, a probing device, into his mouth, down his throat, windpipe and into his lungs. They would lock him up and small coffins with resonating lights and plug some metal things into his scalp (someone called it Electroencephalography; whatever it was, it sounded scary).

Walker was more humane in his approach, Draco decided. He would at least inform him what he was doing. Wesker was silent, relentless and rather unconcerned with his obvious discomfort.

Then the tests were relocated. He was now performing strange tasks, he was told to stand still on a thin red line for some time; they locked him up in glass cupboard with a device that had a seat and a pair of - as they told him - pedals. He was told to sit and pedal, with a white mask covering his lips and nose, connected via a pipe to something else. These things were called 'Performance testes".

They were about to move him to a different sector, when something happened.

It must have been night and Draco was pretending to be asleep; he had developed an insomnia though, and merely spend his free hours closing his eyes and trying to move as little as possible. He remember Hermione's little speech about something called surveillance and was pretty sure he was observed all the times, especially that the bracelet on his wrist had been revealed by an unusually chatty Walker to be a tracking device.

(Yes, he tried to remove the blasted thing and it turned out quite an impossible task)

Something - a sense of foreboding - made him peer through his eyelashes. What he saw, caught his breath.

Another person was being brought in, a black back on their head, their arms bound at their back. A female, dressed in skinny jeans and leather jacket, walking slightly unstably -yet there was some air of familiarity about them.

Granger?

His stomach churned, anxiety mixed with irrational hope.

A rescue mission?

But she was cuffed and unsteady on her feet, a black bag obscuring her sight.

Caught?

He saw her another time quite soon. He was with doctor Walker in a small room, where he had been trying to throw an orange ball into a hoop high above the ground, when a very furious Wesker stalked in, his jaw set and eyes malignant.

'That bitch's causing lot of trouble, Hayden.' he snarled 'We should take her in.' Then his eyes found Draco and his lips twisted in a very unpleasant smile 'You behave yourself, kid.'

'Albert. Not in front of our patient.' whatever chastising was that, it sounded thoroughly insincere, some amount of annoyance visibly surfacing on Walker's sulky visage.

'I'm telling you, Hayden. Drop the kid and let's go -immediately - to operating room right now.'

'You're not in charge here, Albert. Don't forget the -' Walker cut off and then reformed his phrase 'I was put in charge, Albert. Do not try to undermine me.'

'The boss is already displeased with this research. It might be yours -as of now.'

And then it hit him, a scary confirmation: there was a power play going on here. Walker's gentleness was probably irritating Wesker, who wanted results immediately. He would have them cut open and examined from inside, tested, experimented on - and then discarded. Once again Hermione's words returned to him; the story of experiments that led to exposing magic to the Muggle world.

It was beginning, right in front of his eyes. A research that would unleash EMP upon their world and lead to great suffering of many.

This was how all that Hermione had said, was starting. A power play. Hungry men, lusting for success, greedy enough to cut the knowledge out of living bodies. Walker was something of the past; a researcher that researched his subjects with some amount of pity left. But the world Hermione had lived in, was the world of Weskers.

And Draco realized, that will have to rather die than give those men their tools. He dropped the ball, yet the moment Wesker's cold eyes fell upon him, he shivered and picked it back up, terrified even more than when face with the Dark Lord. And as of again, he was split, split in two between the burning need of defiance, the valiant show of courage, the resistance for - what truly was - a noble case, the infamous greater good, and fear, childish, humane fear of a boy trapped in an alien world.

He swallowed. Being torn and feeling trapped was nothing new. It had always been like this, treading the fine line between his Mother, who taught him to respect others - even if that was a distant, haughty respect of the superiors (who manifested their superiority via their manners, not rudeness), and his Father, who wanted him harsh and arrogant, down-treading anyone, who was of no worth.

Yet this particular split went far deeper. It was the question of self-sacrifice and self-preservation. Now, standing in a small room, with a ball in sweaty hands, Draco Malfoy, for the first time in his life, was struck with admiration for Harry Potter.

The boy who was willing to lay his life.

No surprise Granger fell in love him. The thought was almost bitter, almost rancid.

Yet there he was, a blond school boy who had been ordered to assassinate a man and never carried out the deed, a blond boy with a Mark on his forearm, a tracing bracelet on his wrist - a boy, never a man. A boy too scared and too torn between two totally different emotions, that they left him paralyzed.

He swallowed his shame, blinked away his tears and once again tried to throw the blasted ball into the stupid hoop.

'All right, Draco.' Walker's voice was grave, something resembling anxiety and wariness showing in his eyes. Instead of saying anything more, the man regarded him in a way that one does when seeing something for the last time. 'You did well. The security will escort you back.'

Some time later, the door to his room opened with a hiss and a man walked in. His movements were oddly rash, his eyes darting from side to side.

'Doctor Walker?' Draco jumped off his bed, alarmed and shocked, something was off, something was very off.

'Sit-sit my boy.' Walker waved his hand, almost in dismissal, almost in disapproval, rather erratic, a man going at great lengths to conquest an emotion. 'Listen to me closely -not a word!' a shaky finger flew to his mouth.

Draco felt his heart thud with fear.

'There's no time' the man whispered fervently ' -soon he'll be replacing me.' Draco instantly knew who it was, this mysterious him and almost collapsed with panic 'It's -I don't approve. It's gone too far -he's, he's gone too far. You're humans, not some lab rats -this isn't right, it's Mengele all over again.'

'Sir, I -' he was immediately cut off.

'Come with me, this instant. I still have the access.' Walker's face was suddenly set, eyes hard, the face of a man who has just made the toughest decision ever: the decision between safety and what is right - and Draco understood.

'My Mother?'

'You'll see -come now, son. Come.'

He was led through bright corridors, past cell doors (glass walls through which he could see these beds and bathroom facilities) - there were so many of them; then into a lift that moved up and up. And then there was another corridor, slightly wilder and less bright, tiled floor and dark walls that somehow reflected light. Walker was almost jogging now, extremely pale, but eyes hard, decision etched on every feature of his face, something unresolved as if carved in stone. Security brushed past them, men in dark-blue armors and helmets on their heads. But they were not stopped nor questioned, few curious glances fell upon him, but these were trained men, they would not ask questions - and once again Draco realized with horror what had the Dark Lord been trying to attack. A world of marble and obsidian minds.

Then he was ushered into a room. It was an office, he noticed; a desk stood opposite the door and someone was sitting atop, dressed in a dungaree, hair black.

'Granger?' he almost choked on his words.

'I knew I'd find you.'

'Draco!' there was a sob and his mother, in dungaree and sickly green, flung herself at him; and he held her, encompassed by her warmth.

'Mother.' he murmured against her shoulder, worrying she would break down, but then she pushed herself away, holding him at arm's length, her eyes frantically scanning his face for any sign of wrong.

'I'm all right.' he mumbled.

'Lucius, he's here.' she turned her head and then he saw his Father, skulking in the shadows; the man walked towards him unsteadily.

'Granger.' he looked away from him and at her, she was perched almost motionlessly, like a statue.

There was something wrong with her, something sick hung in the air around her and he remembered -

'What did they do to you?' he croaked and suddenly his Mother turned and looked at Hermione as if seeing her for the first time. Only his Father's gaze - he could feel it, the unpleasant prickling against his skin - was still glued to him.

'I'm OK.' she said, her eyes locking with his with silent implore not to ask.

'How did you get out?' he was gob-struck, smitten, utterly confused, unsure whether to feel relief or even more fear.

'During our sessions, Miss Granger told me the truth.' Walker's voice reminded Draco of his existence. The doctor was looking remorseful 'At first I thought it was bullshit -sorry - but then she told me things no one would know.' his silver-iron eyes looked at her, something of a command glimmering in them 'I am so sorry. I never knew.'

She nodded 'No one did.'

'What happened? What's happening?'

'I stopped Wesker's research on Miss Granger. He's calling the Board of Directors now. Within an hour I'll be replaced by him. Until I have the authority in this facility, I can get you out.'

'You need to come with us.' she said almost immediately.

He shook his head, slowly, regretfully, a broken man.

'They'll kill you!' she hissed, her discomfort obvious.

'If I escape, they will go after my family.' he said and they all froze.

'It -it can't be - I don't - I don't understand -' his Father spoke out, his voice quavering, weary, small with fright. And Draco felt ashamed for his Father. It felt almost good that they all ignored him, staring at the man who was saving them at the expanse of his own life.

'We can protect your family.' Hermione objected, her voice fear and laden with despair.

'It's too late. It's my fault. It was my research. It was my choice. Listen.' Walker regained his composure 'We're in Manchester. There's another facility in London. I will use this hour to destroy data and dismantle the system. You need to strike London down. I don't know the location of the facility, the intel's classified.'

'Who's running it?'

'Wiener Corporation. It's working with the government, but I fear it's got its own agenda and the official side is merely a cover for something bigger.'

'Wait.' Hermione's hand flew to her forehead 'Why do I know its name?'

'Miss Granger, it's WHO's major distributor of low-profile AIDS treatment medical replacements. The shipment -'

' -goes to Africa.' she finished 'I knew it! I've heard it on the news; they're developing some advanced treatment using the Ebola Virus.'

'Its mutated form, Miss Granger.'

'What do you mean?'

'I think what they're actually working on has something to do with viral weaponry.'

'Shit!'

The tension was heavy, palpable, whatever the news meant, it was something grave and huge. He looked at his Mother, but she looked equally puzzled.

'You have to go. Time's almost up.' Walker said and the finality hit them all. 'I will escort you to security room, they're changing shifts so it should be empty. You change into their gear, hopefully no one will stop you. Here.' he thrust something into Hermione's hand and she looked at it almost puzzled 'It's a map. Go to the main parking lobby, use a company car and then I suggest you find a replacement. That's all I can do.'

Suddenly Hermione lunged forward. Her arm snake around his neck and she spoke something to his ear, patting his back in an attempt of comforting.

He walked them to the security room.

'If you ever -you know. Tell them -' he broke off and looked away.

'I know.' it was his Mother, who spoke out, here eyes searching for his 'We will. I give you my word.'

He wanted to watch him leave; wanted to see how the man straightened his back and marched back, towards his death, but Hermione pulled him away. 'Don't cry.' she said 'Don't cry when brave men die. At least, don't cry now.' He blinked and realized his eyes were watery.

There were aisles of iron cupboards and low, long benches between them. The ceiling lights were almost blinding, excruciatingly bright. Hermione forced the first cupboard open and immediately began stripping. She turned towards them, still waiting hesitantly by door and urged them with a hiss 'Hurry up! There's no time.' As of again, his Mother reacted first, her walk steady, she brushed past Hermione and opened another cupboard, unbuttoning her dungaree in her wake.

'Lucius. Come one.' her voice was cold, when she spoke to Father, almost refusing to look at him and Draco swallowed, overwhelmed - and walked past them, to the next cupboard. His Father remained glued to his spot, almost paralyzed with fear.

'Father.' he implored, surprised by the softness of his own voice 'You have to do this. We have to get out of here alive.'

'We -shouldn't - we should stay, they won't -'

' -Hurt us?' his Mother, half dressed in a uniform, stepped back and send him an exasperated look 'Don't be a fool, Lucius. They will.'

'But if we try to escape -it'll be worse once we're caught.'

'The longer we linger here, the bigger the risk becomes.' Hermione spoke out, putting on military pants, her head still bowed 'And yes, it will be worse, if we get caught. Move, Malfoy, for the sake of all our hide's.'

'How -how dare you -Mudblood -'

At these words his Mother froze in the middle of removing the bottom of her dungaree, straightened herself and marched towards her husband, dragging behind her the rest of her clothing, something that would be hilarious, if not for the steely aura that brimmed around her, she halted sharply in front of him - and slapped him, hard, sickly sound filled the air 'Don't you ever dare, Lucius Malfoy.'

With that statement, she returned, her eyes bright with righteous anger - and even Hermione stared at her, mouth slightly agape and an eyebrow cocked.

'Wow, Narcissa.' Draco heard her mutter to his Mother.

'Shush.' she replied, almost jokingly.

They marched down the hallway, Hermione with the map in lead, his Father sulking in the rear. The moment they reached the parking lot and Hermione was about to step into the car, an alarm blasted somewhere inside, red lights flashing suddenly all around them.

'COME ON!' Hermione yelled and they all jumped into the car, she already turned on the engine and the car started with a road, they were driving almost recklessly - and the he saw it, blue sky and...

... iron door slowly closing, blocking their path.

'FUCK!' Hermione hollered and the car accelerated, but they would not make it, the door was sealing shut and Draco closed his eyes, hands encompassing his head, he only heard his Father's whimpers and Mother's breathy 'DRIVE!'

And they were outside and the doors shut with a heavy thud. They were free.

Draco was nodding off and his Father remained motionless, the only sound was that of the engine and a quiet, almost urgent conversation between his Mother, who occupied the front seat, and Hermione. They were speeding across the country, without their wands, they were forced to use Muggle means of communication. They drove and they drove, and the dusk set in and the sky grew red.

They parked close to a petrol station and Hermione left the car, telling them to stay in. He tried to start a conversation, but his Father refused to speak and his Mother had her eyes closed, her body limp. Instead he chose to observe what was happening through the window. Hermione entered a small shop and stayed there a little longer that she normally would. Another car drove by and stopped; a man got out and walked to the shop as well. Draco swallowed nervously, remembering the incident that had happened in a place like that, he turned his head to warn is parents, but before he managed to from a sentence, there was a tap on the window and he jumped.

Hermione was standing by the car, but she was not alone. The very same man who had parked a while ago, stood beside her, his face rather puzzled. He looked at Hermione, but she nodded, telling him it was fine. Hesitantly, he opened the door and heard his Mother wake with a start 'Is everything OK?'

'Everybody, I'd like you to meet Peter Quint.'

He was flushed, flabbergasted, unsure whether he should recognize the man, but his Mother spared him the embarrassment of asking an awkward question. 'I'm sorry, but I don't think we've been properly introduced.'

'Neither were we.' Hermione smiled 'But luckily Hayden Walker had made a phone call. Peter will be more than happy to lend us his care. And his help.'

'Excuse me?' his Mother pressed on, confused and slightly wary.

'M'am' there was something brisk, business-like about his voice, a flair of certainty of his own actions 'I'm special agent Peter Quint, Division of Anomalies.'

'What?!' his own voice mingled with his Mother's as they both uttered in their shock.

'Mister Malfoy, Madam Malfoy. I'm a Squib and I've been working against the Division of Anomalies from the inside.'

'What?' this time it was only him, who still could not follow the man's words.

'Sabotage, y'know?' the man, Peter Quint, shot him a very toothy smile, almost childish and contrasting sharply with his poorly shaven face.

'Whatever the Division found out about us, I tried to nullify.' he added, his smile still prominent, as he looked at Hermione 'I think we ought to move. This car's a little suspicious.'

Now it was Hermione and Quint in the front, she was driving still though, because, it seemed, only she knew their destination. Draco sat between his Mother and his Father, the tension between their parent heavy to the point of smothering. Finally, before either of them exploded, the car stopped. They were in the middle of Muggle neighborhood. Hermione stepped out of the car and waited patiently on the curb for them. They were parked in front a small house. Hermione motioned her hand for them to follow her and they all walked up a driveway. She climbed the steps and knocked on the door.

It took a while before they opened, just a little bit, and a surprisingly familiar voice asked a question 'Your favorite song by Celestina Warbeck?'

'I'm not Molly Weasley. I hate all them. Equally.'

'You brought friends?'

'Family.'

The door opened and a very smug Antonin Dolohov revealed himself on the doorstep 'And here I was beginning to worry.'

Somehow, Draco found himself a cramped kitchen among Death Eaters; there was Dolohov, who followed Hermione, Scabior sporting a gush on his cheek, Thorfinn Rowle with a Butterbeer in his hand and Severus Snape, spread lazily on a chair.

Suddenly he heard a cackle that made his skin tingle with fear. He span widely and his gaze fell upon Bellatrix Lestrange, who was leaning against the door frame, her eyes set on Hermione.

'Look what Muddy brought in tow. My blood traitor sister, her bad mouthed son and her worthless husband. Well. Well. Well.'


	16. The Iron Price

At first it was a weakness, uncomfortable tingling in her muscles, something much similar to a simple strain. Then there were thousands of little needles piercing her bones, forcing her to leave her bed and march downstairs, to the kitchen, thirst burning her throat. She drank a glass of cold water, condensation making her grasp slippery, she drank another, her mind beeping alarmingly, her thoughts resembling a hemorrhage; flood of pictures, sensations and scraps of words.

She walked to the living room; Dolohov was asleep on the couch, his silhouette almost undetectable in the darkness. She could hear his breath, steady and deep, the sound of someone who is sleeping peacefully. She put the glass on a coffee table and picked up, instead, her pack of cigarettes. She crept outside, trying to be as stealthy as possible. No one was safe; every single one of them slept with the metaphorical one eye open.

She sat on the stairs, lit her cigarette and stared at the world outside, tranquil in its stillness. Her chest felt constrained, the sensation overcame her suddenly, almost startling her with its intensity.

Almost because she knew that this was going to happen. Sooner or later, Wesker's farewell gift would manifest itself in its bloody glory.

She chewed on her lower lip, somehow appealed by the feeling of condemnation. Finality was a comfort of sorts, you know you are going to die, you know there is nothing you can do - and the moment the thought hits you, bare of any exaltation or drama, mere biology deprived of any metaphysical aspects, it becomes the ultimate comfort. Readiness to die is the greatest gift of life, at least it was, in Hermione Granger's eyes.

Earlier tonight she had learned what had transpired during her absence. Both Snape's and the rest of Death Eaters' missions had gone amiss. Snape had almost gotten himself killed when Kingsley Shacklebolt aided by Remus Lupin attacked him on sight. Her own wand had suddenly disappeared, no spell nor the Trace had been able to track its localization. Rowle and Scabior had gotten themselves into a serious skirmish, ironically as it had been, with Mulciber, Yaxley and some two newly-recruited Death Eaters. They had managed to escape by the skin of their teeth. Bellatrix had killed a Muggle. Accidentally. Dolohov and her had rushed to their rescue, magically managed to get lost in Muggle London - and Bellatrix "mistook" one Muggle for a Death Eater she (she claimed so) detested with every fiber of her be.

Luckily, Dolohov, her - already - favorite Death Eater (ex-Death Eater?) had managed to "nick" some wands off very unlucky Snatchers, led by none other than Greyback himself. As Antonin had explained, he wanted to gift her with a werewolf pelt, but the sorry excuse for a wizard Disaparated in the nick of time. Unsure whether to feel grateful or bothered with the idea, Hermione resorted to smiling at the man and nodding her head.

Which led to small incident with Bellatrix who, at this precise moment, shrieked that Dolly had the sweets for Muddy, which led to a very heated debate between the two, which transpired into a small duel, which transpired into a shouting match between everybody present.

And Lucius had a tantrum, and Narcissa refused to speak Bellatrix (the latter dancing on a table for some unknown reason), and Draco sulked and Peter Quint dragged her aside to ask whether her team had some mental problems or had it been just a figment of his imagination.

And Bellatrix had been taunting Quint ever since he spilled the beans and admitted to being a Squid.

It was just then, when Hermione decided to step in and told everyone to go to sleep, please, unless someone felt the absolute desire for spitting snails for all eternity. Either this threat was serious enough or no one in particular craved to be hexed with a Snatcher's wand, but everybody just calmed down and stalked off to their chambers, Bellatrix claiming Hermione's parents' bedroom as her shrine of privacy.

She then asked Snape for a moment alone and they marched to her room, sat on her bed, she turned to face him and told him everything and watched as the Potions Master's eyes widened. He mustered his calm and nodded his acknowledgement.

'Gryffindor bravado.' he said, staring at her, trying to crawl beneath her skin 'Very well. On your own head be it. When will it happen?'

'Possibly in few hours' time. I shall wait outside.'

The next question that came was tentative, uncertain 'Aren't you afraid?'

'Maybe.' she stated 'Maybe. I don't know anymore.'

The pain was growing, a steady ache filling her body with sensation of burning. Chest constricted and head swimming, Hermione finished her cigarette and almost decide to stay in one spot. Almost, because even her life's ambition was to drag herself back inside, her body stoutly refused to performed the task. Slouching even more, she decided to wait it out.

It was already very late or very early, dawn not far away, and the sky was slowly growing lighter in the east, a delicate mist filling the air, a silvery shine that illuminated the darkness. Hermione thought of the Sea. Not some particular sea, but the Sea, the general idea of a sea, an immense body of water and its complex symbolism. The longing and the journey, the unknown and the loneliness, the absolute and infinity, birth and death, on and on the list went, stirring the depth of Men's longing for the in-explainable Unknown. She loved the Sea, both as the idea and the very the sensation of sailing across the Unknown, the yacht being the very symbol of yacht, some Ithaca looming in distance, the Ultimate Destination. Augustine of Hippo had made a mistake in "De beata vita", she pondered; while condemning the Sea, marking it the symbol of being lost, and adoring the Port as man's sole source of safety and the only right place to dwell in, he reevaluated the entire beauty of mysticism. No "Odyssey" could be created in such a universe.

Night became blurry, her body broken with aching that filled it to the brim almost about to spill out. She thrust her head between her knees, gagging on a scream that could emerge from her constricted lungs, Hermione realized that her body had indeed spilled the ache out. The spill manifested itself in a small leak of blood that passed her lips and fell on the stairs. The virus and the antivirus, contained in Wesker's syringe, fought for dominance, ravaging her body in the process.

A trembling, clammy, estranged to her, hand wiped her lips. Hermione forced her body upwards.

Think of me when you cry with bloody tears.

The man had a fetish with blood, his thick American-German accent and will of dominance reflecting in his eyes. An airborne Ebola, lethal to humans, transmitted via mere breath, a weapon to die for, a weapon to die from, a gold mine on all the black markets had been his primary goal.

Wesker's research led to something she never told anyone about. The Virus. The Virus that would transmit only through magical population, wipe out the Wizards and the Creatures; The Virus that was created from the mixture of magical and Ebola-ridden blood, the very irony of Voldemort's obsession with breeding between Magic and Muggle.

What Wesker sought was magical DNA he could work on. He got it from her, Test Subject Zero One. In her timeline, Patient Zero emerged from a London facility, some unknown wizard who soon transmitted the magical mutation of Ebola on his family. Unlike the matrix virus, this one took a little longer to kill, thus ensuring the infected would move around, spreading it with tremendous speed.

The Virus (that was how they used to call it) eradicated American magical populace. While Healers worked on a solution, perfecting the cure, inhuman populace was dying without even knowing what killed them. Before the cure was ready, Centaurs, Giants and Elves of both Americas were gone, thanks to Albert Wesker who sold the formula to an organization called Friends of Humanity, who dumped its entire load into New York's sewer system.

Britain was a little luckier. The Giants survived. And so did forty percent of Wizards. That's when the military moved in.

In this timeline, she had become the Patient Zero. But with different sent of cards. Because by going after Malfoys she was quite sure she she was going into Wesker's loving embrace. And by causing havoc she ensured the honor of becoming Test Subject Zero One. The unholy prototype of mass destruction.

This was what she told Hayden Walker, only that after Wesker pumped death into her veins. Someone had to be the sacrificial lamb and Hermione's Gryffindor lion roared with bitter pride.

And this was what would stop The Virus. Without her carcass to offer Wesker the key ingredient to slowing the sickness, the very last piece of puzzle to fall into place and finish the jigsaw would never be his and The Virus would never spread because it killed too fast.

And there was only one specimen of The Virus. The single vial contain airborne death had been mercifully emptied into her bloodstream. Wesker would never lay his hands on another, her Death Eaters would ensure it by destroying London facility and killing Wesker - her Death Eaters, what a befitting name. They would eat death, they would feed on it, they would embrace death and create new life, finish the cycle.

And the tears of blood that were leaking through her eyes, were the iron price she had paid for the lives her people - for they all were, every single one of them, truly hers. To claim by death, is to claim to the very core.

Nature had its laws and Hermione loved her for it. In the year 2000 The Virus mutated and killed half of Muggle populace in United States. FoH turned on Wesker, who promised them cure. During a mid-winter raid on a medical facility, due to an incident cause by Harry Potter's recklessness, Wesker's team captured Hermione Granger. He infected her with The Virus and its Muggle-killing counterpart - and developed the cure. Accidentally, for both variations.

Funny as it was, her blood now carried both the instruments viral apocalypse and the salvation from it.

And there was a small chance she would pull through, even though she had been injected with the yet-to-be-perfected variation of The Virus. And even if not, her death would be painful - but swift.

It was strange, truly. She was sitting, or rather half-lying, on the stairs that led to her parents' home, watching as sun slowly rose in the east, sky cracking with pink gushes, a new cigarette in a limp hand, and bracing herself for the inevitable - and was forcibly reminded of that grass and that sky and that missile that arrived like Abaddon, the Angel of Apocalypse. She smiled to herself, lifted that shaky, clammy hand, cigarette barely touching her lips and sucked on it, nicotine ravaging her body.

'Fuck.' she mumbled to herself, lips dry as a bone, stiff. She blinked, her eyelids rather heavy. There was something filling her nostrils, she sniffed and immediately swallowed some blood. She would not die of hypovolemia. It would be MODS, or Multiple Organ Dysfunction Syndrome, that would kill her, were she to die at all. This was not a pleasant perspective. So she muttered once again 'Fuck' and waited patiently for another wave of fever.

When it hit her, she shivered, cigarette sliding from her fingers are rolling gently away, she stared at it with watery eyes, unable to focus on anything else beside this small lump of tobacco.

'Granger!' urgent voice from somewhere behind.

She tried to force her mouth to speak and tell them to stay clear, but when she opened her lips, there was only blood and small cascade that flooded her chin and stained her chest.

A hand on her shoulder. She was shaking so much, her body torn with rigid spasms, it made her headache almost skull-splitting.

'What's going on? Why's she shaking?' shrill voice.

'Stay clear, Narcissa!' masculine voice, anxious. She moved her head, a little bit, even tiniest movement would cause her skull to erupt in vicious pain. A hand moving into her perspective, lumpy fingers and tiny black hairs protruding from the pores. 'Granger! Look at me!' now there was a face, big nose and black eyes, obscuring the sky; she wanted to tell this person to stop it, she really needed to see the sky, only the sky would grind her, otherwise she would fall over, into the gaping pit that slowly filling with bloody, sticky, coagulating swiftly blood.

'S-S-S-Snape...' a throaty raps escaped her lips 'No...'

Go! Go! Otherwise you'll catch it! And all of it will be for nothing.

'Stay with me. Look at me!' urgency, desperation, two hands on her shoulder, grounding her. 'Bella!' a nervous shout 'Get Antonin!'

But whoever was the addressee of those words, disobeyed.

Scent. So peculiar. Golden tresses, long, bright.

'Why -? Severus, Hermione's crying blood! What is it? What's happening?'

Narcissa. Suddenly kneeling in front of her, another face to cover the sky; blue eyes shiny with emotions, tongue moisturizing red lips.

Don't look at me now!

... What a strange thing to think. Ha. Ha. Ha-ha-ha. Thing think. Think thing. Tink tink.

'What's happening? Who did this to you?' female voice, like an anchor, dragging her down, away from the cheerful land of her mind. Such a delight. Those thoughts, the sound of words prancing like merry ponies across her head.

She tried to be eloquent, but whatever came out her mouth, was not 'It's only logical, it had to be done and it's better it'd been me. I had to be recaptured because I carry the cure in my blood and even if I die, Snape will be able to create the antivirus, so millions won't die' but rather 'Oh' and 'Blah.'

'She's spitting blood, Severus! Again!'

'Don't touch her Narcissa, or you'll die.'

'You know what it is?!' anger. Angry Narcissa.

'She's told me.'

'Well?'

'A virus.'

'A virus?! Snape, do you take me for an idiot?'

'A virus that will wipe out half of wizarding population, Narcissa.' calm answer 'It would have been either you or Draco or Lucius- or her. And she's the only one who's been caught before.' heavily accentuated last word. Snape voice, unwavering, steely resolve to see this through.

'You mean back then?'

'Yes. When they lost control over it and it spread on Muggles as well -'

'Wait. Lost control? Muggles?' sharp notes of panic, much alike in sound to anger.

'They created it. She's the only one carrying the cure, because they had caught her before. Do you understand?'

'Why didn't she tell us?'

'Imagine the panic. I can make - if you stop fussing around - a vaccine from her blood. So that even if they infect us, we won't die out.'

It was so unnatural, to able to hear - and quite clearly - but not be able to either respond or even observe. But her hearing was becoming impaired as well, sounds muffling and molding with each other, soon all became a steady buzz that filled her ears and ventured deeper, expanding over her body. Another wave of paroxysms, the spasm painful and a sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if her body was disintegrating rapidly.

'Save her!' shrill sound; the feeling of resurfacing, her body straining against the pull of the fever. Like leaving the icy depths of the Lake, back during the Triwizard Tournament's second task. She coughed, ready to spit water, but the substance was heavier and thicker.

She blinked, forced her eyelids open. The sun had risen.

Being levitated. A scream.

Pair of charcoal eyes, mane of hair, tresses like the snakes of Medusa. A woman leaning by the door frame, staring at her with sharp curiosity.

Then there was blackness and out of the dark she was reborn. Weak body. A mattress bending with its weight. An orange ceiling, a lamp. Her room. She knew it, so familiar, years of waking up and seeing exactly those two things, the ceiling and the lamp, merged them into a very symbol of security.

'So, Muddy. I see you're awake. Well, good.' she heard the drawl and forced herself to turn her head towards the sound. Bellatrix sprawled on a chair beside her bed, the expression of utmost boredom etched on her sunken features 'I can tell the others now - and my babysitting shift will be finally over.' She rolled her eyes, stressing the extent of her suffering, but otherwise never moved.

Hermione blinked. So she had lived.

Oh. How odd.

'Tables have turned girl.' Bellatrix grinned, the predator ready to kill, maim and devour 'Now you're the helpless cripple and I can violate you with unnecessary banter. How do you like it?'

Tentatively, she licked her lips. They were not that dry. A good sign. The fever was gone now.

'What -' her voice was strained, bordering on hoarse and inaudible 'What's the... time?' she had to take things slow, otherwise she would end up barking instead of speaking.

'It's the next day morning. Don't ask for the specifics, though, never been particularly fond of them myself.' the reply was easy and almost like a regular conversation, Bellatrix moving her hand as she spoke, steady gestures caressing the air. 'So, Muddy.' charcoal eyes snapped and a sly grin spread like a wildfire 'What's with that self-sacrifice thing you pulled off? Do you get off on that?' The last sentence, despite its rather disdainful meaning, was spoken brightly, the way one asks about a movie.

'Logic.' she would have said more, were she able to divulge. But her voice was still less than cranky.

Bellatrix snapped, probably expecting an answer of rather 'This was the right thing to do' sorts. A tongue shot out and moisturized lips; a little tick shared by both sisters was all of the sudden endearing in her eyes.

'Care to elaborate, Muddy? Or is that everything poor Muddy can choke out when in the presence of my glorious self?' a cackle at the end of sentenced felt almost like a punch to the face.

She swallowed and cleared her throat, thinking of hundred of ways to kill Bellatrix in few minutes, without unnecessary commotion or straining herself to the point of dying from exhaustion.

'My... voice.' was the witty reply and Bellatrix's eyebrows got lost in her hair.

'Your voice? My oh my, Muddy!' she chirped all of the sudden, cheerful like a little bird on a lovely spring morning 'You're insane!' and she burst out with delightful, if not somehow unsettling, laughter.

'Ugh. ... water...?' whatever she tried to say, and it was supposed to go like this 'May I please a glass of water, Bellatrix?', was drowned in those lovely notes of Bellatrix's joy.

Bellatrix almost doubled over with laughter, her palms smacking her thighs.

'Oh Muddy' she wiped her eyes theatrically 'you're such fun!'

'Water. You. Me. Please? Thirsty.' she spoke now carefully, but Bellatrix obviously decided to play on and widened her eyes comically.

'What is it, Muddy?' the fake concern in her voice was laced with venom.

In her mind's eye, Hermione could see a little girl with black tresses teasing other children into tears. She was about to scold that little Bellatrix of her imagination, when a brown haired girl with big teeth popped out beside Bellatrix and pushed a little Timmy off the stairs, watching him crash down with the genuine curiosity of scientist.

Well, no one's past is full of fluffy bunnies and eternal kidness. And besides, Hermione had her fair share of hurt, putting her palms into a fireplace or a fork into the plug, falling through a window after watching a documentary on mountaineering or crashing her dad's car at the tender age of ten were those rather severe but just prices she had to pay for her curiosity.

'Muddy! Hello!' a piercing whine by Bellatrix almost had her jumping off the bed in a desperate search for the source of alarm.

'Don't!' she wheezed at the woman, who cocked her head at the statement and observed her studiously.

'You're no fun.' Bellatrix finally came to conclusion, pouted, and stood up 'If you're going to ignore me like that, I may as well as go.' The face that Hermione saw, was the face a disappointed child; a little girl had been denied her playtime even though the parents promised her she would have it. It struck Hermione, across the chest, like Dolohov's curse in the Department of Mysteries: Bellatrix was happy Hermione had awoken. She expected her to talk to her. Hermione's disability, had been interpreted as disinterest.

Bellatrix was truly disappointed.

And leaving the room.

'Bella - trix!' she wheezed and the woman froze.

'What did you call me, Muddy?' the growing tension in her voice was palpable.

'Bella -trix... sorry... can't speak... longer... words... with...out...breaks.'

'What's wrong?' Bellatrix spun around, her expression perplexed 'Did that illness do something to your vocals cords? Is it going to be like that? Always? Well, if you can't speak, you can't be in charge -'

She would probably keep ranting, so Hermione forced herself to reply 'It'll pass. Water? Will you... get me... some... water?'

'What do you think I am? Some barbarian?' Bellatrix fumed and instantly conjured a glass of water, with a careful nod of her wand sending it into Hermione's palms. 'You know, you should have said so earlier, instead of those grunts and murmurs. Oh Muddy Muddy' she shook her head with the air of someone scolding a pesky pet and Hermione could not stop herself from raising an eyebrow.

The water was icy cold and soothing.

'Thanks, Bellatrix.' she said, her voice much stronger than before.

'So care to tell me' Bellatrix loomed nearer, halting at the foot of her bed and resting her palms on her hips 'what was that all about?'

'Muggles... had didn't know... they infected me twice... with the same virus. It was only... logical.' the word was a challenge, a gauntlet tossed at Bellatrix's feet. Hermione was quite sure she was pick it up and retaliate, the woman chose the opposite and simply stepped over it.

Or never noticed.

'A leader should never risk his -well, in this particular case, her -life like this! Bellatrix tongue lashed out and once again licked those ruby red lips 'Especially, if she's the only one who poses crucial knowledge! Tell me, - no, you don't have to, I know' it was slightly as if Bellatrix was having two conversation at the same time, one with Hermione and one with herself.

'Was it another display of Gryffindor brain-death, your lot so often accuses me of?' Hermione finished for her and opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly her throat choked up by itself and she coughed. Something moved with impressive speed, a flock of something black obscuring her vision - and then she saw a pale face and charcoal eyes looming close above her, scrutinizing her with furrowed brows.

'Is it -?' the question was rushed and made no sense 'Is it -again?'

Hermione took a rattled breath and slowly shook her head.

'Constricted.' she answered rather lamely '... due to... damage.'

'Oh well' as fast as she was above her, Bellatrix pushed back and slouched lazily on the chair 'in that case I shan't worry any longer that you'll take the knowledge about saving the Dark Lord to your grave.' she shot her a smug grin 'You know, without me you'd be long dead, Muddy.'

'Oh?'

'Don't thank me.' Bellatrix lifted a royal palm, chin high up and eyes proud 'It's in my nature.'

'To care?' the question was almost venomous in its tone, taking Hermione herself by surprise.

'For valuable assets to Dark Lord's case. Of course.'

'Good, I was beginning... to worry.'

'Don't.' Bellatrix Black, the Queen of the Wizarding World was as lenient, as majestic in her regal replies and Hermione smirked, amused by the vision of nutty ole Bella shifting on a golden throne, her stiletto heeled boots not reaching the floor, a crooked crown dangling from those ungodly curls.

'Something you find funny?' there was a growl in her voice, but Hermione did not really care.

'Yeah. You.' it was the only honest answer she could give but it felt like a punch, when leaving her mouth. Oddly enough, she could feel an alarming desire to hurt Bellatrix, some layer of sadism awaking from within.

She needed action. Being in bed did nothing for her mental balance. And she felt unhinged mightily.

Well, I keep nearly dying. I need to blow some steam off.

'Oh Muddy.' the woman growled once again, her eyes darkening with anger 'Were you not valuable, you would find yourself branded so that you'd finally remember your station.'

'Nothing better than a slimy ole "Mudblood" carved into my flesh, eh Bellatrix?'

A shadow ran past the woman's face, followed closely by a hideous snarl of fury. The woman stood up and promptly marched out of the room, leaving Hermione rather with a rancid taint of distaste with the outcome of their conversation in her mouth.

She really needed action. Near-death Ebola experience not so long after a near-death nuclear attack and time traveling were not a good combination. And bed was only adding in.

They gathered in the kitchen. Hermione ushered them in their seats and took her own. They deserved to know. She could almost smell their distress, an odor of anxiety emitting from their bodies.

She thought about her words carefully and set on telling them the whole truth. It took her over an hour to properly explain everything. She had to be the one to be infected for two reasons. One, she was the only one who stood a chance against it. Two, the Patient Zero was the matter of a very short time. Better to extract them, then let them loose.

Dolohov, Quint and Snape saw the logic. Bellatrix was still fuming that the only means of saving her Dark Lord's life had nearly been destroyed. Narcissa looked tearful and masked it cold composure. Draco kept his head down, embarrassment oozing from every pore of his skin. Lucius sulked and Scabior's eyes scanned the room in a mix of confusion and boredom. Whatever Rowle had on his mind, was concealed by a blank look on his face.

'I fully understand.' Snape spoke for them all, looking at her with apprehension she did not fully understand 'But I'd rather you tell us, the next time.'

'I wasn't sure.' she said 'I didn't want to cry wolf.'

The rest remained silent. They were used to being used, the Dark Lord was not the man to go about and tell everybody of his plans; heck, it would catch them off guard, if she decided to talk about everything.

'Now. About the London facility. Peter?' she wanted to change the topic. She was used to making the calls and unused to getting emotional reactions in reply. When it's war, a group acts like a machine, each part doing its own job; one makes the decision and different parts perform separate tasks which, when combined together, result in a "mission accomplished". She picked it up from Muggle warfare and she would keep it like that.

Unnecessary knowledge brought another risks. The timetable was still unsure, to put it mildly. No man should know of his future, lest he would begin to fear the days to come.

'Wiener Corporation has its headquarters in Geneva. Swiss banks handle large part of their money. There are two facilities in the United Kingdom, one in Manchester and one in London and, further on, four in the United States, in Texas, New York, surprisingly, Las Vegas and Seattle. There is also a facility in Dubai and a facility in Mombasa. These two are absolutely clandestine. Each facility works on its own set of goals. England specializes in virology. States focus mainly on military, in the open providing UN task forces with equipment -oddly the main focus lies on Kevlar -in the shadow zone, we suspect, it ships prototypes to Iran. What Dubai or Mombasa are working on, nobody knows.'

'The whole Corporation is run by Board of Directors. We don't know these people. They operate as if underground. The command cycle is pretty simple. Traditional espionage. Which means that nobody knows what the others are working on. I'm quite certain that Albert Wesker is the only person in Manchester facility who knows the location of its sibling in London. I don't know, though, whether he has a sufficient clearance level to enter it. Not to mention the lower levels. If your information is right' Quint looked at Hermione, deep in thought 'London is the only place where the other vial may be -I know you don't believe it exists' he added hastily 'but I'd sleep much sounder if it was a hundred percent certain. And even if there is no other vial as you claim, there are still tools to either recreate the virus -or work on it from the beginning.'

'The London facility has to go down. And the leads must point to a terrorist organization -or' she cut off, an idea popping into her head '-fuck terrorists, let's blame the CIA!'

'What?' Quint looked flabbergasted. 'That's a little -bloody - mental.'

'What's the best way to end their cozy relationship if not by adding an unhealthy suspicion of wrong-doing on both sides? And it pulls the finger it's been pointing on us away.'

'You're as mad as they come.' Quint grinned and instantly became serious 'Which leaves us with fuck-up number two. The bickering between Lord Voldemort and the agencies. This is a tough cookie. Even if he stops harassing Muggles or Muggle-borns, the situation has already overgrown out of proportion. The stones have been pushed, and the avalanche is rolling downhill.'

'Has the Ministry fallen -as of yet?' Hermione looked at Dolohov.

'Matter of days if not less.' he shrugged 'It's to no avail, if you think of saving the Ministry. Even if you do, they'll still do what they've been doing the whole time. Nothing. It's rotten to the bone.'

'Somehow though, we must put an end on it. If both sides keep poking each other, soon someone'll go ballistic.'

Everybody stared with wonder, mouth agape, at Rowle who suddenly spoke up, the bass of his voice profound.

'Well. Yes, Thorfinn.' she said, uncertain about her next words 'But how?'

'The Muggle-borns are aligning with Muggles. Burbage has crossed the fine line a long time ago probably, and she's pooling information like a leaky bathtub. Ollivander and the wands have evaporated. Agencies are linking and assembling. Soon they'll lash out.' Quint was counting on his fingers, his expression severe.

'A year.' Hermione added 'May second. That's when they lash out.'

'They'll be ready long before.' Quint pointed.

'Let's seduce the Mud -Muggle-borns - back.' Thorfinn Rowle, a Death Eater, once again addressed the table 'You could be their new rallying point, Miss Granger. The ideal poster girl of, I don't know, Don't Let The Muggles Kill Us All Rally.'

The silence was heavy and Rowle looked as if he was about to back out.

'Clever.' Snape saved the situation 'Very clever. If we won the Muggle-borns back...'

'Their support for Muggles would come to an end. And therefore halt their entire operation.' Dolohov smiled at them brilliantly 'There is one drawback. Imagine Bellatrix embracing Muggle-borns.'

Queen Bellatrix The Mudblood Lover. Ha!

'Let's -uh.' Hermione scratched her eyelid 'Let's strike London first. Baby steps, everybody.' somehow she found herself fighting very hard not to even look in Bellatrix's direction and was quite sure everybody had a same issue, because suddenly the atmosphere became rather strained.

Bellatrix remained gracefully silent.

'We figure our way in -to London. Via Wesker. Everybody, it's hard work ahead. We need to kidnap Albert Wesker, who, I'm quite sure, is already expecting that. Once we have him, London's open. Once London's gone and everybody looks at CIA questioningly, we begin Operation Wand and Operation, uh, Blood simultaneously. And Bellatrix' she stole a peak at the woman, who was gracefully impassive, her heavy-lidded eyes looking at nothing in particular 'you work with me on Operation Wand. Dolohov, Quint and Severus will do the wooing. Somehow' she added under her breath 'I'm not too appealed by the idea of you hanging around Muggle-borns.'

'I can hear you well enough, Mudblood.' came the lazy, cold reply.

Some things would not mend.


	17. Maternity Spell

They were - literally - nowhere. Wesker vanished, as if the ground had opened and swallowed him wholly.

They would raid and stalk and look for hints, teams of two traversing England, looking for a tiniest of clues. With Quint's help - and his laptop - they managed to find Walker's family and that was the pinnacle of their success. Snape and Hermione moved a very depressed Mrs. Walker and her two daughters, Claire and Emily, into a safe-house.

The safe-house had been a rather illicit dealing. Dolohov, well, modified Jones' memories into making them believe their wildest ambition was to quit their jobs and move to Tuscany. With them out of the equation, Narcissa and Rowle, who had suddenly became very helpful, turned their house into a safe haven for those who needed protection. Warded and under Fidelius Charm, it would become a safe-house Hermione's team could put under constant surveillance. Of course Bellatrix was protesting all the way, shrieking with anger that Muggles did not require protection. She was also furious about Scabior being her partner. Despite Hermione's reasoning (the weakest member paired up with one of the strongest would balance out their abilities), she kept fuming and making side remarks most of the time.

And Lucius still refused to cooperate, sulking about Malfoys' room.

They needed to establish their headquarters. Or at least adapt them into something else than a temporary place to bunk.

And that meant a trip to Ikea. And a non-illicit one. Quints car had been magically adapted. Protective and space-modifying charms had been put on it, ensuring they would neither get pulled of by the police nor be recognized by anyone who saw them drive by. A very pissed off Bellatrix, an amused Hermione and an excited Draco went for a lovely drive.

'Remind me again, Muddy, why are we doing this?' Bellatrix, who was seated on the front seat, her posture tense the moment she set foot inside, looked at her with a deep scowl.

Instead of replying, Hermione put on Merigold's shades, extinguished the remains of her cigarette and started the engine. Draco was fidgeting on the back seat, fumbling around with his seat belt.

'Muddy. Do not ignore me.' Bellatrix snarled.

'Am not.' she finally gave up and drove carefully through the neighborhood 'As I've said a thousand times before, we need to adapt that house. There's already ten people living here, Bellatrix. We need to make it as comfortable as possible.'

'I know' Bellatrix rolled her eyes 'But why some Muggle shop -and why drive there?'

It was the same conversation, over and over again. Why? Because. Why? Because. And whenever each question would be answered, Bellatrix would - in due time - repeat it, like a stubborn child unable to change their opinion on something. Whether it was because the woman was rather off her mental balance or due to her stubborn personality, it became rather bothersome, to the point where Hermione would simply refuse the answer the question. Which, in turn, led to Bellatrix's anger and a full scale argument.

Indeed, the situation was rather, to put it mildly, hilarious. Driving with Bellatrix Black and Draco Malfoy to Ikea to buy Muggle furniture was something she would never foresee. And upon seeing it, she could not believe it. It was like one of those dreams that are so absurd, one wakes up startled and scratching their head, in awe mixed with bedazzlement of the power of imagination.

Once they were outside down, Hermione sped up, regarding the traffic with displeasure. It was a Saturday morning and the road was crammed with cars. People were driving around, going for their weekend shopping, paying visits and returning from holidays, their lives as mundane as possible.

'Well?' Bellatrix refused to give up and Hermione took a deep breath to let go off the tension.

'Well, because there a lot of things there - things we need.'

'Lovely homey Muggle nonsense?' Bellatrix spat vindictively, glaring at her with pure contempt 'Instead of pursuing after that Wesker, here we are, detouring in order to do some shopping.'

'Would you rather have everybody sleep on the floor for goodness knows how long? Uncomfortable and less proficient due to the lack of proper rest?'

'This is a war, Muddy. Not a bloody holiday.'

'Yeah.' she tapped her palm against the wheel, trying to venture out her frustration with Bellatrix's lack of foresight 'And we're outnumber severely. We need everyone in their prime, not cranky and sore.'

'We're used to the discomfort, unlike you!' Bellatrix positively grimaced.

'Said the woman who sleeps in a king's bed and refuses to let anyone else share it.'

'Oh Muddy. You'd have me share my bed? Just like you'd like to with Dolly, eh?' Bellatrix cackled, her eyes bulging with malicious glee.

She was fed up. They have been driving for less than thirty minutes and she was already tired and on the brink of bursting out with anger. She took a steadying breath, focusing solely on the road and cars she was constantly overtaking.

'What's your problem with Dolohov?' she deadpanned. 'Jealous?'

'What!?' that had Bellatrix squirming and shaking with barely suppressed anger 'Me? Jealous? Of whom?! Are you -no, you are. Bloody mental!'

'Dunno.' she shrugged 'But judging by the way you keep questioning my sex life, it would seem as if you cared.'

' -Hang on! Did -do you -bed him?! Bellatrix was out of breath and turned suddenly to face her, cheeks sporting a rather unpleasant red blush.

'Even if I did' she said smugly 'I don't see how it concerns you.'

'Concern me? Filth!' Bellatrix roared mightily 'I'd rather not have a pure blood -no matter how worthless he is -mingle with your sort!'

'Well. Luckily no one give a damn what you'd rather.'

And that shut the woman up.

Daring to sneak a peak, Hermione saw a very rigid Bellatrix staring ahead, her gaze almost unfocused. The all-familiar beast roared gleefully in her chest, taunting her to push forwards and before she managed to constrain herself, those words left her lips 'Wait. Bellatrix. You fancy him?'

Bellatrix's scream had her almost braking in thoughtless panic. She grabbed the wheel tightly and steeled herself for the onslaught. Taunting Bellatrix was like poking a dragon with a stick; sooner or later the beast would wake up and attack you. Yet Hermione would not be herself, if she did not put the hand into flames - only to see what happens. Studying at Hogwarts and being on constant Harry-vigil, she had managed to overcome that particular trait, now however, with the War destroying any and all boundaries, the bloody adrenaline-craving and cursed curiosity have returned in their full glory.

'NO!' Bellatrix finally managed to regain her voice and yelled at Hermione 'I would NEVER fancy a worthless BORE such as him! Would you -were you -Muddy, if you had any sense -taste -were you worthy... If you had any -decency - proper sense, you'd know better.'

'Are you jealous of me, then?' treacherous mouth spoke before she stopped herself. Those six words felt like ordering a nuclear attack. And likewise was the reaction. First Bellatrix went stiff with shock, her eyes round as saucers. Then her lips moved by no sound emerged. She was trembling, every muscle in her body tense with fury. Her face went so red it looked like she was about to have a stroke.

Suddenly there was a snicker on the back seat. Draco Malfoy was probably enjoying thoroughly their exchange, this being the very pinnacle.

'I'd never guess my Aunt fancied you, Hermione.' he spoke up in a mock-innocent voice and added swiftly, eyes traveling from Hermione to Bellatrix 'As the matter of fact, I'd never have guessed you fancy women, Aunt Bella.'

Whatever followed was not what Hermione had expected. She was punched in the jaw, suddenly losing control over the wheel, car screeching and plummeting on the opposite lane, horns blowing at them. Another punch smacked her ear and her foot pressed the gas pedal on its own accord; numbed, she only saw a huge cargo truck's front -very close up - and braked for dear life.

'ARE YOU MENTAL?!' she bellowed at Bellatrix, while the car went skidding off road.

They landed on a grassy field, their noses filled with the stench of burning tires. The moment they stopped, Bellatrix unbuckled her seat belt and catapulted herself on Hermione. Her vision obscured by black tresses, she blink in surprise and another punch caved her nose in. Swallowing blood, she shoved the other woman off, pushing her against the windshield, Bellatrix's claws ravaging her cheek in the process.

'GEROFF!' she spat and whammed the woman once her arm was free of her clutches, her fist plunging into the other's temple, temporarily stunning the woman. With a vicious thrust, one arm still pushing Bellatrix, she undid her seat belt and opened the door. Before she managed to leap out of the car, Bellatrix charged again, suddenly straddling her lap, with Hermione still unbalanced and they over-toppled, falling out of the car; Hermione landed on her back and Bellatrix's body was pressed flush against her, odd warmth emitting from it. Bellatrix's fist rammed into her lip and she tasted blood, writhing and hissing, she freed left leg and pressed her knee into Bellatrix abdomen, jutting her forward and upward. With a shrill shriek, Bellatrix rocketed above her and landed on the grass, her lower body still lying on Hermione's but that was easy, so she just rolled away from underneath it. Both women faced each other immediately, panting and bloody, ready to attack.

'STOP IT!' Draco yelled, snapping them out of their battle fury. As if on command, they turned and glared at the boy, who had stepped out of the car and was looking livid 'Your bloody bickering almost got us all -killed! And what you're doing now? Rolling on the bloody grass! What is your problem? You keep picking fights with each other.'

'He's right.' she spat blood and looked at Bellatrix who had crossed her arms imperiously 'We shouldn't.'

'You started it, Mudblood.' for some who had grass and leaves sticking out of her hair and a monstrous bruise growing on the side of her had, Bellatrix looked as composed, as if she had went on a lovely little stroll.

'You -' she broke off under Draco's glare 'Well. I did. I apologize.' the last words were almost a sneer.

'You've got awful tempers, you know?' Draco said teasingly 'It's like some sort of a courting dance what you're doing, it really is.'

'Oh shush you.' she smiled at him despite her broken lip and bloody nose 'I wouldn't go that far.'

'Oh no no Muddy, you'd if I were Dolly.' Bellatrix provoked once again, eyes gleaming with something Hermione did not understand.

'If you were Dolohov -and I was into him - I highly doubt I would go after him in that manner.' she mustered her composure.

Here goes nothing. Hermione the mighty leader rolling in the grass with Bellatrix Black, neither able to contain their mutual... what was it, resentment? Or a power play, a need of total domination? Or something entirely different?

'As if he were interested in Mudbloods.' Bellatrix bared her rotten teeth in a twisted smile that resonated all the smugness a false idea of superiority could offer.

'Let's get back on the road, shall we?' she promptly ignored the remark.

The rest of their shopping trip was rather uneventful, with Draco smirking and Bellatrix silent as a grave for most of the time. They purchased beds and returned in deep silence to the headquarters.

The moment she stepped into the kitchen, was was met with a tense atmosphere. Severus Snape, Antonin Dolohov and Narcissa Malfoy were seated by the table, chewing through a lunch.

'The Ministry's fallen.' Snape spoke in sullen voice.

She sat down immediately and rested her elbows on the table, thinking at great speed.

'They'll attack the wedding.' she murmured, more to herself than any of them.

'What wedding?' Narcissa asked, her voice rather soft and strained.

'At the Burrow. Bill's and Fleur's. We'll apparate to Shaftesbury Avenue.' the words felt oddly strained, there was something more to it, something in the back of her head, a memory, distant and almost vanished, what was it? The situation triggered something in her, a small voice nagging relentlessly, requiring her to think, to remember. The bus that nearly killed them. Man in a mascot outfit, tour tickets. Fifteen minutes. Crowd. Men. There was something, she had seen something back then, something she disregarded.

'We need to go.' she stood up and knocked the chair over.

'Where?' Draco, who standing behind her, asked in a concerned voice 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing.' she breathed, nervous all of the sudden 'Shaftesbury Avenue. I knew -I saw something. Back then.'

'What's happening, Hermione?' Narcissa got off her chair and walked towards her. She placed a palm on her shoulder, encouraging her to look into her eyes. 'What's happening?' she repeated in a breathy whisper 'What's wrong?'

'We need to' she swallowed, hard 'apparate to Shaftesbury Avenue.'

'Miss Granger, I hope you are aware of danger if we bump into -well, you?' Snape was eyeing her with a pronounced disapproval in his dark eyes.

'Yes.' she half breathed-half hissed 'I'm well aware. Only that' she looked back at Narcissa 'I remember seeing something -wait!' it struck her with the force of the lighting 'I bumped into him!'

'Wesker? You bumped into Wesker?' Narcissa demanded, almost harshly 'Are you sure?'

'Yes.' she nodded feverishly 'I'm quite sure. I was looking at the mascot and Ron kept asking where are we -and I got distracted and, yes, it was him, I rammed him with my shoulder.'

'The timeline's been altered, Miss Granger. It's uncertain to say the least and highly dangerous -' Snape began to reproach her, but she merely grabbed Narcissa's arm and side-along apparated them to Shaftesbury Avenue.

Their soles hit the pavement with a small thud. In a streaming crowd of Muggles, their sudden appearance went unnoticed. She looked around widely, trying to learn of their location. She felt something hard and warm; Narcissa's palm grabbed her own, the woman somewhat disheveled. There was a faint crack, Hermione swung around only to see Bellatrix, Snape, Draco and Dolohov apparate few feet away.

'Where are we?' Dolohov looked around with alarm.

'Shaftesbury Avenue.' she replied automatically and urged them on with nervous gestures with her free palm 'Let's go, let's go!'

It was then when she noticed Bellatrix's death glare. The woman was staring at Hermione's and Narcissa conjoined hands with such fierceness, that if eyes could cast spells, the offending limbs would melt.

A bus honked. With a deep shudder she saw -

A seventeen year old herself, clad in that red dress, and two boys on her side, one ginger and lanky -and the sight of the other made her hear skip a beat. Black hair and dress robes. For a split second she wanted nothing more than to just scream his name and fling herself at him, kiss him senseless and confess her love and how she missed him. With a painful clench of her heart, she knew it was not him. It was Harry Potter, a boy who had just turned seventeen and started his quest.

Not him.

She let go off Narcissa's hand and, disregarding the others, she slowly began following them.

The trio was pushing past swarming crowd, Ron panicky questions hanging in the air. There it was, the mascot who tried selling tour tickets, a pregnant woman in a trench coat narrowly missing Harry, a tall man with sticky hair and -there he was. Albert Wesker in black coat, a small suitcase in his hand, was marching imperiously, his eyes narrowed with cold disdain. She saw herself bump into him, their shoulders colliding; the girl flinched and he went on, jaw set and head high. Without thinking, without worrying about anything, she simply pulled out her wand, his eyes met hers and she saw surprised fury emerging, but before he had a chance to react in any way, she breathed 'Imperio!'

Wesker flinched and suddenly halted, his body almost rigid and eyes full of internal struggle.

She walked up to him, very close, like a lover coming to greet her beloved, she stood on he tiptoes, his lips nearly on the tip of her nose as she lifted her head. Hermione looked into his eyes and smiled.

'You're coming with us, aren't you, Albert?'

'Yes.' the answer was tense, hoarse. He was fighting the curse. She stepped back and grabbed his palm, ready to go back, but then she made the dumbest mistake ever and chanced another look at the trio.

And she saw Hermione Granger look at her.

The girl froze.

'Fuck.' she gasped.

Trust it to Ronald Weasley to maintain a cover. Seeing Hermione halt, he turned as well, his eyes widening almost comically when he saw them.

'DEATH EATERS!' he bellowed on top of his voice, brandished his wand and instantly fired a Stupefy in their direction. Now the crowd panicked. Ron's aim was poor and the the hex smashed into a little girl who clung to her mother's hand. She went rigid and fell over, stiff as a board, her had contracting with a sickening crush with the pavement.

'Stupefy!' Snape hissed, sending the spell at Ron, but before the red jet collided with him, Harry Potter pushed him away. The other Hermione was still motionless, staring at her with utmost horror paling her features.

People were pushing past them, someone was yelling and suddenly there was an all-familiar wail of police siren. Snapping out of her reverie, she pushed Albert towards Draco, ordering curtly 'Take him!' before breaking into a sprint in the direction of trio. Ron, still not recognizing her, fired an impedimenta at her, but she dodged it easily and retaliated with a swift petrificus totalus. The hex hit him square in the face, his body momentarily stiffening up. She heard Harry yell his name and was forced to fling herself on the ground as a powerful Everte statum missed her by inches. The hex hit Draco instead, who was following her closely, and the boy was thrown backwards, crashing into a Muggle couple who ran for cover.

Harry Potter attacked her immediately, a red jet of Stupefy once again missing her by inches as she rolled away, leaping to her feet. Not wanting to use Protego as not to add up to the general havoc, she merely cast Fumos duo, wrapping them all with thick dark fog. The police was hear now and so would the special agents be; she needed to act fast. Coughing from the fog, she crawled towards the trio, Ron's anxious voice leading her on. The other Hermione, however, regain her control finally, and a powerful Finite Incantatem dispelled the fog, revealing her close proximity. Before any managed to attack, Hermione subdue Harry with a stunner, knocked Ron over and grabbed the other Hermione's hand. 'Get them!' she yelled at her team. Draco was pulling Wesker towards her, when suddenly there were bullets flying in the air.

'Apparate away!' she hollered, forcing herself atop the other Hermione, grinding her harshly to the pavement, the girl's dress rolling up as she buckled. 'Listen' she growled, her attention snapping back to her younger self 'You're me, I'm you. Trust me!'

Sighing with trepidation, she turned towards the police. There were already three cars blocking the streets, the shooters taking cover behind them. With a faint shiver she realized there was no shouting for 'Hands up!' or 'Drop your weapons!'. They were moving in for the kill.

'Close your eyes.' she told the other Hermione and flung a vicious firestorm spell at the police, the very same one Dumbledore had used against Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries. Muggle Wars had left her in desperate search for powerful magic. And Dumbledore's portrait, saved almost miraculously from his office, had became her mentor.

Explosion made the windows in nearby buildings explode, in the same moment, Bellatrix grabbed Harry Potter and Snape held Ron.

'Let's go!'

They apparated in the front yard of her parent's home. Without speaking to anybody, she yanked the other Hermione up and marched her inside, the rest of her team trailing sharp behind them.

They tied the trio to the kitchen chairs and undid the magic.

'What's -?!' Ron was first to exclaim, but Hermione's eyes sought only Harry's and she saw him narrow his eyes as epiphany hit him.

'Hermione.' he gasped at her in almost painful manner 'It's you.'

'Yes.' she admitted, ignoring Snape's snarls of warning 'It's me from nearly five years ahead.'

Ron's eyes bulged and his mouth fell open, but she disregarded him as her gaze was almost clawing at the man she loved so desperately. But the boy was looking lost, his eyes trailing across other people in the room and the words that fell from his mouth made her blood freeze.

'You've sided with them?' he said, utter horror turning his voice into a bitter squawk.

'There's not them nor us from when I've come from.' she said, imploring him wordlessly to listen, to understand, to accept, but there was cold defiance in his eyes; those emerald orb were screaming 'TRAITOR!' at her, their fury so lively, she took a step back, feeling as if someone had just crucioed her.

'Listen, Potter.' Draco, sweet, blessed Draco took over, Draco who knew she was now in deep pain 'It's not what it seems.'

'MALFOY!' Ron regained his voice, face flushed scarlet 'YOU SLIMY GIT -!'

'What's happened?' the other Hermione's voice snapped her out of the deep pain and she looked at her, looked at herself and saw her regard her with something that bordered between pity and curiosity.

'We can't tell them.' Snape sided with her, forcing her to turn her attention to him 'This is absurd. First rule of time travelling is to never reveal yourself to yourself.'

She nodded, understanding albeit unwillingly. Her mind was spinning, reeling, her thoughts caterwauling at the sight of her other self, body almost seizing up with unfamiliar panic. She felt a sharp pain in the head, coughed and stepped back, terror flooding her with fierceness of a tidal wave. She took another step back and walked into someone.

An arm draped itself around her waist. An unfamiliar scent. Softness and intense warms.

'Don't go crazy now, Muddy.' Bellatrix half-cooed, half-mocked.

'We need to erase their memories and send them back.' Snape spoke softly, his eyes fixed on her with anxiousness, presumably expecting her to enter the state of shock and go catatonic. 'Potter, Granger' he addressed them, refocusing his attention on them 'you must not remember any of this, is this understood?'

They nodded, Ron still gawping at them with disgust and fear. If it wasn't for Bellatrix's arm stabilizing her, she would have crumbled on the floor. Now, despite the haze that filled her mind, she fully understood Dumbledore's warning in her third year 'Time travelling is dangerous. Many witches and wizards have lost their minds, Miss Granger, just at glancing at their future or former selves. Remember, you must never be seen. And you must not, and this is vital, by any chance, interact with yourself.'

Bellatrix cackled softly, her lips quite close to her ear 'You know what, Muddy, you're fun after all. Never - never - in my time I'd seen such things.'

'Bella, this is not funny. Hermione' Narcissa swooped beside them, scolding her sister icily 'are you all right?'

She nodded, still too shattered to speak in coherent sentences, thankful with all her might for Bellatrix's steadying presence. The witch probably was aware of her state of mind, she stole a quick glance at her sister 'Don't, Cissy.' it was simple and remark-less - and somehow comforting.

'Will you do the memory charm?' Snape was watching them with caution and Hermione once again nodded. Bellatrix never let go off her, wrapped in an awkward half-embrace, they walked together towards the teenagers. Her hand was shaking slightly when she lifted her wand and pointed its tip at other Hermione.

'It's for the best.' she told the girl, her voice cracking and hoarse 'Trust me. As you trust yourself. I've never betrayed you -me.' And that was it, her mind once again swam and span around. How does one address oneself, when speaking with -well, oneself? The question blazed furiously across her mind, loosening and her grip but Bellatrix's arm dug sharply into her body, its painful grip once again snapping her back.

She nodded.

'Easy, Muddy, easy.' Bellatrix murmured, her voice laden with something none of them recognized. It was husky and low, almost cracking - just like Hermione's, as though the woman, too, was shaken by something. 'You don't want to damage yourself, do you now?'

She steadied her hand and relaxed against Bellatrix's chest. She felt the woman flinch slightly, the reaction probably due to the lack of tension in Hermione's body. For few seconds there was something of uncertainty in Bellatrix's stance, then the woman once again mustered her iron composure. Hermione paid extra heed to these details, not because she liked the woman, but there was something material, some form of firm grasp, that focusing on would mend her spinning mind. Observation was her last line of defense, when logic and reason failed, she would resort to the details, turning them into a salvation of sorts.

She cleared her head and focused solely on Bellatrix's body flushed behind her 'Obliviate.'

The moment the other girl's eyes unfocused, something hit her, making her stagger - and then struggle when she felt someone's arm around her waist. She pulled hard and broke free, turned around only to see -

\- Bellatrix Lestrange, the notorious Death Eater who murdered Sirius Black and send them on a mad chase through the tall grass around Burrow only to set fire to Ron's house. The woman looked at her questioningly, but Hermione was reading.

'Stupefy!' only then, when the woman was sent with smashing force on her back, she saw she was surrounded by Death Eaters. There was Antonin Dolohov, scary as always, Narcissa 'Bitch Face' Malfoy, her slimy son, and Severus Snape who recently killed Dumbledore. All of them were glaring at her with very peculiar expressions on their faces.

'Dear me.' Snape said, his face suddenly blank 'The Maternity Spell.'

She did not wait for explanation, she fired 'Expelliarmus' and the spell send Draco's wand into her grasp. She turned to hand the wand either to Harry and Ron.

And she saw herself, only that clad in a red dress and staring at her with pure horror on her face, tied to a chair.

'What are you?' the impostor yelled at her exactly the same moment she screamed 'What kind of magic is that?'

'Harry' she turned imploringly to him 'you must trust me. It's me. The other one -'

But before she managed to finish the sentence, he cut in, panic rising his voice into a harsh scream 'Get away from me, impostor!'

'Ron?' she turned to her crush, but the boy was glaring at her the same way her best friend was. She took an unsteady step backwards, mind spinning at nauseating pace and then turned sharply on her heel, tears about to spill from her eyes. The Death Eater Snape send a spell at her, it collided with her chest; suddenly all air was gone from her lungs and she crashed to the floor, unable to move, stunned. Bellatrix Lestrange appeared above her, a cocked eyebrow and an unreadable expression on her pretty, sunken face 'Muddy, what's gotten into you?'

Snape and Dolohov approach and looked at her, the first worried, the latter surprised.

'Severus?' the dark haired man looked at Potions Master 'What's happened to her?'

'Yes, Snape, what happened?' Bellatrix demanded 'Muddy's insane, as we all know that, but this?'

They were joined by Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. The blonde woman knelt by her side and reached out to touch her. Hermione was panicking now, unable to compose and single thought in her mind.

'The Maternity Spell.' Snape said and Narcissa looked up at him, her cold palm still on Hermione's forehead.

'What is the Maternity Spell?' the blonde asked softly, as if in the presence of a scared animal.

'I've only read about it -as a possibility.' the Potions Master examined Hermione from above, face inscrutable but not hostile 'It's said that it may occur if a time paradox takes place.'

'What do you mean? How does it work?' Dolohov's hoarse voice was full of urgency. If she knew better, Hermione would have claimed he was very worried. But what could be worrying her, now that they have successfully subdued her.

Maybe the impostor -?

The very thought of this thing that wore the red dress made her intestines clench with panic. She tried to take a deep breath, but her chest was heavy. She forced her attention on the Death Eaters.

'There is a theory that one someone travels through the time but the travel is disturbed somehow, the traveler finds himself or herself, if one traveled into the time they were already born that is, wild magic can occur.' Snape was speaking slowly, as if trying to understand his own words 'The Maternity Spell happens.'

'Well, what does it do?' Bellatrix cut in, anxiety coloring her words 'Muddy's acting as if -'

'As if her memory has been altered with.' Snape finished smoothly 'Because that's precisely what had happened.'

'But -' Bellatrix began once again, but he waved his hand irritably and she fell silent.

'It's rude to disturb Bella, and we mustn't be rude.' he said and carried on in the same, slow manner 'The Maternity Spell should work to protect the stability of timelines. Continuity must be preserved, otherwise we could end up in a situation when the former self is killed and the later still alive. Do you understand?'

'Wait. That means that whatever happens to young Granger, happens also to her?' Dolohov pointed at Hermione.

Young Granger? Time traveling? Paradoxes? Continuity? What the hell?

'Simple pattern. Action and reaction. She' Snape once again pointed and her 'in these circumstances is the reaction and her young version is the action. If the action is, ah, altered, so is the reaction. That doesn't apply, of course, to the reverse. Whatever happens to her does not and will not happen to the other.'

'Is there a way to break it?' Bellatrix sounded distressed now 'We can't have Muddy bound to - uh - Muddy.'

'No.' Snape shook his head 'Their fates, being the fate of the same person, are inevitably intertwined.'

The gravity of situation was obvious. Hermione wanted nothing more than to close her eyes against the oppressive madness that dragged her into some regions of her mind she did not like; those blank, black pools somewhere deep within her very self; the Pandora box of insanity had been brutally wrenched open, all she had to do now, was give in to that and embrace the security of pure self obliteration.

'All we can do is reverse the memory charm.' Snape added, as though from a great distance.

And there it was, the twirling of her brain, the amendment of memory and its nausea. Pieces fell into place. She wanted to blink and vomit, but the stunner held her well.

'Well?' Bellatrix demanded. Narcissa's palm was stroking her forehead now. It was reassuring and quite pleasant, which was odd, because she had become unused to such close proximity with anyone.

'Let's see. Shall we?' Snape flicked his want and her body instantly crumbled. She rolled on her side and threw up, staining her shirt, Narcissa's and Bellatrix's boots, and the floor.

'Muddy!' Bellatrix exclaimed like one does when facing a very misbehaving pet 'Look what you've done.'

'Nothing' she panted heavily, wiping her mouth unceremoniously with the back of her hand 'you can't clean in a blink of an eye.'

'Oooh. She's back.' Bellatrix cackled, forgetting about her boots or the pool of vomit 'Are you back?'

'It seems so.' she pushed herself into sitting position and looked at Snape 'Although I've no idea where I've been -if I've gone anywhere, to be specific. What happened?'

They marched her into the living room and forced her to seat on the sofa. Snape explained the situation and she just hung her head, wondering bitterly if things could not have just turned from bad to tragic.

'What do we do?' she mumbled into her lap 'We can't kill her -me, for fuckssake - nor drop off anywhere with that knowledge. And I can't have her around' she looked at Dolohov 'because I'll go insane in few days' time if I have to look at her all the time.'

'What about simple spells?' Dolohov sat beside her sympathetically and slightly awkward 'Will stunners or Expelliarmuses work on both of them?'

'I don't think so. As long as these aren't the spells that change things in a permanent manner, like the memory charm or -'

'The killing curse or maiming spells -or regular wounds that scar, right?' she cut in and looked at Snape, who nodded mournfully.

'I've survived the whole year. So should she. Let's let her go.' she added, trying to keep her face blank despite a sick feeling of despair that made her once again nauseous.

'Everything is different now.' Snape was visibly sorry about what he had to say, discomfort oozing from him intently 'The circumstances have changed now.'

'Let's keep her captive.' Bellatrix chided in, her tone gleeful 'We could lock her up in a dungeon -well' she looked at Hermione, grin fading by inches '- unless you don't have a dungeon.'

'No, I don't.' she stood up unsteadily 'And besides, if she goes bonkers thanks to captivity, probably will I as well. If we're that intertwined, I need her -me, fucking hell - as cozy and safe as possible. Otherwise her permanent mental impairment will affect me as well and I can't do shit if I have, let's say, a claustrophobic attack during a fight.'

'Bella, you're not being helpful, you know?' Narcissa, who was watching her most of time almost tearfully, now scolded her older sister who shrugged in response and stalked off, stating 'If you don't want my company, fine. I shall go outside and help myself to Muddy's cig-ar-rets.'

'It's ciga-rettes and I'm coming with you.'

'So, Muddy' Bellatrix, the great conversationalist, started 'this is quite a fix you're in, is it not?'

'Yeah.' she admitted noncommittally.

'You're in quite the state, are you not?'

'Probably.'

'In that case' Bellatrix shot her a toothy (and quite scary as well) grin 'I don't think you're fit to lead anymore.'

'Oh really?'

'Oh yes.' she nodded gravely 'I believe I should appoint myself for this task. What do you think? Not that it really matters' she added in afterthought.

'Oh really?' Hermione repeated numbly 'But sadly, you've no clue as to where to carry on. Imagine something happened to the Dark Lord thanks to that. Now, that would be quite a fix, wouldn't it?'

Bellatrix scowled and pouted, but there was no real meaning behind it, as if some of her reactions were merely add-ons, substitutes for more "normal" means of non-verbal communication.

'You're so quick to jump to conclusions, Muddy.' the witch sighed heavily, lifting an unlit cigarette to her lips and taking a drag.

Hermione found it hard to suppress her giggles. The muffled sound caught Bellatrix' attention, she turned to face her with a scowl etched on her features, the unlit cigarette still inches from her lips, a royal gesture, almost.

'Something on your mind?' the woman's eyebrows flew up.

'N-nothing.' she gagged slightly, deciding to never tell Bellatrix of her blunder.

Because there was something so ridiculous about it, that it was almost cute.


	18. Redemption

Darkness. Such a preposterous wonder.

Wise men from days long gone used to ponder the nature of evil. Some would say that is merely the absence of good. Others would claim it good's polar opposite. Only few admitted evil is neither force nor lack, but merely an act of will. Men's glory, they had said, is in the freedom of his will. No good and no evil would exist, if Men were unable to choose between them. And thus it began, the steady march of thought, from abstract Ideas that would dwell in the Divine to the very heart of Men. The universe, first overly expanded, now shrunk to Men's heart. All that there was, righteousness, goodness, virtue and evil, was confined to the small space of one's heart.

What you create is what you get. Nothing besides would remain.

Yet darkness is no choice. No Men can choose darkness, for darkness is no act. It is the Inscrutable, something that cannot be called a lack, nor safely named an autonomic being.

And so Hermione thought, long after Bellatrix returned indoors, staring at night that enveloped her almost perfectly. The very encounter with herself - the Other Hermione - left her torn to pieces, unable to set her mind to anything else. So much innocence - and everything now gone. Seeing her was like a knife, slicing through her, violently showing her what she had lost.

For the loss was grand. She had managed to lose herself. One look upon the girl left her broken. She was an empty shell, a woman who could love no more, who no longer saw point in anything. Her life was already gone, a sham of hollow existence. Whatever she had become, she would gladly die a thousand times to save the Other Hermione from becoming her.

To love Ron, instead of loving Harry. To defeat Voldemort and return to Hogwarts. To become an Auror, a Healer, to work for the Ministry. To have a family. To live to old age and die surrounded by grandchildren. Maybe these were banal desires, yet she prayed to whoever would listen, that the other was spared.

This Hermione was already gone. A preposterous creature that could only calculate and deal damage. Nothing more.

If she were to fail, she would kill them. Both. The instant Muggle War erupted once again, she would kill the other -and thus destroy herself. If they were victorious, she would... - there was no point in thinking about that. Mainly because they were still teetering over an edge that led to terrible fall should they lose their balance.

Still, it was quite obvious that she was out of time. And then it hit her, a force almost knocking her over, a harsh epiphany: she was not doing this for her own sake. She would have to rid her heart of all the remaining emotions and forge herself into a tool. Hermione would become Hermione's tool, the very means to an end.

She discarded the cigarette and walked indoors. She needed to talk to Albert Wesker. All the commotion that started when they arrived, the trio and the doctor in tow, made her momentarily forget about the blond man, as if he dissolved or never existed. Funny, she thought bitterly, how circumstances alter our perception.

When she was eleven, she had her first "serious" accident. Her father had given her a small racing bike, something that was quite a treat. She went for a ride around the neighborhood, speeding with all her might, drunk on the sensation of air swooping beside her, she never paid heed to where she was actually going - and her front wheel smashed into a rather high curb. The force of the collision knocked her off the seat. There was the sudden, starling sensation of flight, her body was airborne and helpless; there was a crunch she heard and a thud, when her forehead connected with pavement, a burning pain encompassing her; her perception narrowed then to pain, smell of freshly mowed lawn that filled her nostrils and the warmth of the sun warming her sore skin - and nothing more, just fragments, brief sensations and bits of observation, nothing more. The whole wide world had shrunk to those tiny bits.

It was a lesson to be learned. When something dramatic happens, your world narrows, all you seen and all you feel, are just bits. There is nothing else. That is why you compartmentalize, you learn to see past pain, you use the adrenaline that courses through your veins and channel it to expand rather than narrow.

Wesker was sitting on the couch in her parents' living room, his face rather blank and his gaze fixed on a TV set, even though the screen was black. Hearing her walk, he turned to face her, his cold eyes bottomless and empty.

'Hello.' she said, feeling rather nauseous. There was something sickly about men deprived of their free will. They looked... there was no word for it, but the first impression was always scary, no matter how many of them you had previously seen. 'We need to have a small chat, Albert.'

'Very well.' his smile was thin, cruel and curling his thin lips into a smirk of sorts 'Let us.'

Almost tentatively, she sat beside him on the couch, their eyes never leaving each other's. 'What do you know' her voice was rather hesitant 'about the London facility?' The question was blunt, bordering on crude, so unlike her, she focused, swallowed her uneasiness down.

Focus, Granger. Focus.

'The London facility?' he repeated softly, his eyes empty 'Not much, truth be told. We, you see, we don't like to share, not even among ourselves.'

'Surely' impatience was crawling in, she had to fight the urge to torture the man, to hasten to process, to squeeze it out of him and then kill, maim, devour 'you must know something. A man of your importance...'

'It's ran by doctor Newton. We' he grimaced 'dislike each other, you see. He would like it very much to beat me to the final results. So, you see' his liking of the phrase was annoying by now 'we don't really share any information. You could actually call it... an inside conflict.'

'Much like you fought doctor Walker?'

'He was a fool' he snarled 'A weak man, scrupulous to the point he would achieve nothing for the very pity for his test subjects. No.' he shook his head 'He was no match and this was no conflict. He simply was, you see, to be ridden of, once his role was played.'

'Once his role -? What are you talking about?'

'He found the virus.' Wesker was livid now, vanity battling Imperius, something rather uncanny 'He found the gene code that binds the virus to the host. But he would do nothing with it. So much power, you see, and so little nerve.'

'You stole to virus from him?' she wanted nothing more than just to flay him alive 'You would use him to achieve the primary results and then get rid of him?'

'As I said, once his role was played...' Wesker trailed off, eyes malignant and face contorted in a profound sneer that disfigured his rather handsome features.

'Typical.' a feminine voice, a little husky and full of disdain spoke out and the two of them turned. Bellatrix Black had emerged from down the stairs, still fully dressed and her hair perfectly disheveled. Cold eyes were glued to Wesker, distaste painting her features 'Petty, petty Muggles.'

'I thought you'd gone to bed.' Hermione breathed at her, eyebrows high.

'Nah' she swatted her hand lazily 'I'd rather not risk itty-bitty-baby Muddy having another bweakdown.' she finished the sentence in her trademark baby voice.

'I'm honored, I think.' Hermione shrugged 'Uh. Bellatrix?' she licked her lips, almost nervously 'Have you checked on -uh - me? The other one, I mean?'

Bellatrix looked at her, black eyes unreadable, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her ruby lips 'They're tucked in like the little babies they are. Snape's given them the Drought of the Living Death and ol' Dolly locked them up in the attic. They'll be asleep for hours.'

'Cool.' she nodded and turned to Wesker, once again, forcing herself to focus on him 'Carry on.'

He gave them the address. The clearance code turned out to be a blood sample, in order to enter the compound, one would had to take a blood test. The only entrance was through a security room. A squad of guards, few surveillance cameras and an automatic blood test: you pierce your thumb and smear the drop of blood of on a screen, if DNA matched, the hissing door open, and you can step in. If it doesn't, the guards take you down. While revealing this piece of information, Wesker smiled unpleasantly, probably despite Imperius enjoying the situation.

'What about invitations? They don't have any visitors?' Hermione demanded, cold sweat beading her forehead. She looked at the man and wished for nothing more but to kill him, wipe the vile smile off his face. Kill him - or despair. She glanced at Bellatrix, who was pacing the living room, her expression rather sullen.

'If you are invited, they wait for you. And still, you'll have to take the blood test.' Wesker snickered at that and Bellatrix snapped. She turned to him, her snake-like locks flying in the air, loose strands sticking out in different places, the very picture of chaos.

'Let me kill him.' the demand was sharp, harsh and kingly. Her eyes swept past Wesker and locked with Hermione's. 'What are those blood tests, by the way?'

'Like blood wards.' she shrugged 'Don't kill him. He can't go missing.' she looked away from the woman and steeled herself for Albert Wesker and his haughtiness 'You're going back to work in few hours. You'll never perfect the virus. You may - and you will - work on it. But no matter how much effort you put it your work, the results will always be bad. And your subjects, Wesker, your subjects must not last longer then a day. No one is to interrogate them. They're yours. Make sure, always, they never spill any information. And the other one -I can't remember his name, what was it, Conelly?'

'Compton, Marcus Compton.' he corrected her smoothly and smile, his cold cold smile made her shiver slightly 'I presume he must be... gone?'

'Either frame him or kill him, I don't care. Sabotage any results that may lead to actual effects. The virus must never be. Is that clear?' she felt nauseous with the very idea of ordering an assassination. It was not her, she would have done anything to spare a life. No matter how grave one's sins are, no one has the right to claim their lives. The fifth (or was it the sixth?) Commandment was always the Golden Rule, Thou shalt not kill. Yet here she was, a monstrosity in her own eyes, coldly asking a man to kill another. She swallowed, bile rising in her throat, a sickening sensation of despair filling her stomach in a cold wave 'What is your alibi for tonight?'

'An affair?' he shot her another cold smile, his eyes ever observant, ever disinterested.

'An affair?' she repeated slowly 'Tell me about the woman.' there was a harshness in her demand, something that had been born in the pit of her despair.

'Norwegian.' he shot smoothly, eyes never leaving hers, ignoring the pacing of Bellatrix, ignoring anything that was not Hermione 'Five eight. Blond. A struggling model. No recognition, though. Obvious beauty, so too cheap to sell. I've met her last week, am shagging her quite often. I'm not in love neither in lust, merely having fun with a silly girl. Who believes I'm her passage to fame.'

'Not bad. Name?'

'Erika? How do you like it, Erika? Erika Thornvasson.'

She smiled at that, mind running at great speed 'You will meet your Erika quite soon.'

'What?' Bellatrix's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned to face the woman who froze in the middle of her pacing and was staring at Hermione with disbelief 'How are you going to do that?'

'Uh. Polyjuice Potion? We'll find someone who fits the description. And should someone follow Wesker, they will see that Erika Thornvasson exists.' she smiled at the woman. Bellatrix did not look neither convinced nor pleased, the latter quite surprising.

'Oh, so you're going to bed him?' cold disdain in her voice matched the one in her eyes as her gaze traveled from Hermione to Wesker and back again.

'Nope.' this was an unfamiliar territory so she had to tread lightly. Bellatrix was demanding something, claimed Hermione could not recognize. The air was suddenly full of tension. She inhaled deeply, trying to wrap her thoughts around it but to no avail. Bellatrix also must have sense it, she canted her hips and tilted her head, eyes suddenly widening with something, an unfamiliar glint coloring her irises. Hermione could not look away, so she stared at the woman, lost for words and her mind spinning with a variety of images that made no sense. Here they were, Hermione still posing as a brunette, clad in a simple tank top and skinny jeans, looking all Muggle except for a wand she was twirling unconsciously between her fingers, and Bellatrix, her wild tresses and corset, sunken face with pronounced cheekbones (the bones were sticking out almost as if they were about to pierce her skin), ruby lips and those eyes, shining with an unrecognizable emotion, two polar opposites, once-upon-a-time adversaries, now forced allies - and the air between them kept shifting as they tried to evaluate, read (or maybe understand) the other one.

She swallowed. Bellatrix was still staring at her, pale face full of focus, and then she merely narrowed her eyes, lips twisting in a small smirk. Of victory? Was it victory - or just disdain?

'I won't, Bellatrix.' Hermione hear her own words, soft as if addressed to a lover, and closed her mouth with a snap.

'Good, Muddy.' Bellatrix's answer was immediate, a purr or a sneer, or maybe something in between, but very quiet, almost personal 'This would be disgusting.'

She found herself nodding in understanding; whether Bellatrix meant it was disgusting to have sex with a Muggle or it was disgusting for Hermione to shag Wesker, it did not really matter all of the sudden.

And then she snapped out of the haze. And so did Bellatrix. Both of them looked away at the same time, Bellatrix scowling and Hermione puzzled. Whatever had just transpired, was something neither could ever expect. Hermione took a steadying breath and looked at Wesker, who was smiling, his lips thin and cruel, but his expression amused. A wild fantasy about Crucioing him to the point of insanity ran through her head, but she let go off the thought, its disgusting intensity almost shameful.

'You may sleep on the couch.' she told Wesker and stood up. Bellatrix glided out of the room, either fleeing the scene or tired, without another word and Hermione went for the last cigarette.

Wesker left before breakfast. The rest of them, save for the trio who had been given their food by Snape, gathered at the kitchen. Hermione briefed them on her conversation with Wesker and his alibi. They nodded their acknowledgement, Narcissa looking slightly alarmed. Bellatrix was silent, poking her food with a fork, eyebrows knitted tightly together. Hermione could not focus, her overly compartmentalizing mind had been failing her these days, that being something new it was slightly a terrifying experience. The rest of them, however, never noticed. Draco looked cheerful, Snape was talking quietly to Dolohov, who kept shooting Hermione friendly smiles from time to time, Scabior was trying to win Rowle's attention by cutting into the conversation he was having with Narcissa. It felt almost like the Great Hall, like breakfast at Hogwarts - only that instead of a castle, this was a Muggle house and instead of students, there were Death Eaters.

She touched her temple, feeling an impending headache settle in.

'We need to find ourselves a blonde.' she said to Dolohov who first cocked and eyebrow, probably thinking she wanted to have a mutual lover with him, the mixture of bewilderment and excitement on his face somewhat endearing, and only seconds later realized she had been talking about Wesker and his face fell.

'Do you' a small smile was tugging at the corners of his lips 'want us to go together?'

'Let's, shall we?' she rubbed her temple, bracing herself for another wave of cold pain 'I mean' she muttered 'I can't really tell if a woman's really sexy, I need a guy to tell me.'

'Is it true?' Dolohov moved closer, eyes shining with glee 'That usually the woman another considers beautiful is unattractive in a man's eyes?'

'I don't know' she shot back 'but it's kind of obvious our tastes differ.'

'Our as in mine and yours?' he leaned even closer, his proximity most definitely not unpleasant.

'Our as in general.' she responded by leaning closer herself, ignoring the potential repercussions of their breakfast not-so-subtle flirt 'As in masculine and feminine.'

'Oh.' he grinned, his teeth white and sharp, like a werewolf's 'The eternal rift between a man and a woman.'

'If you could please stop having a private encounter with your eyes at the table, it would be much appreciated.' Snape's voice startled them, they shot back, Dolohov nonplussed and Hermione's eyebrow up.

What a polite way to say 'eye fuck'.

She forced a small smile, hell-bent on ignoring Bellatrix' fury and stood up.

'If you'll excuse me. I have to find myself a Norwegian blonde quite soon.' she looked away from the Potions Master and glanced and Dolohov who got up as well, his smile rather savage.

'Now you're into women, filth?' Bellatrix's snap nearly made her jump. There she was, sprawled on a chair, her face slightly pink, eyes wide and smoldering, a scowl almost disfiguring her face, cold, superior and brimming with disdain. Their eyes locked for a moment, those charcoal orbs were flooded with contempt, glaring at Hermione the way people glare at particularly large and ugly spiders - or snails that eat their vegetables.

'Nah' she shrugged, finding it difficult not to smile at her private joke 'I'm into a woman.'

'What is that supposed to mean, filth?' Bellatrix roared imperiously, the effect would have been impressive, if her voice was not shrill.

'I'm into turning into a woman.' she deadpanned, looking away and at Narcissa who smiled, a private, friendly smile. Without actually thinking about it, Hermione winked at her, something that did not go, oh so unfortunately, unnoticed by Bellatrix. The raven haired witch shot her a malevolent look and scowled deeply, as though gravely insulted by the exchange.

The plan was quite simple. Hermione and Dolohov would stumble into a modeling agency, pretending to be talent hunters. They would, hopefully, find a girl matching Wesker's description, talk to her, obtain a hair, modify her memory and then Snape would give Hermione some of his Polyjuice Potion.

Then Hermione set the routine. Scabior and Rowle were delegated to try and spy on Voldemort's next moves, Narcissa and Draco were on guard duty, ensuring the safety of Walker's family, Snape was send to do his research on the Maternity Spell and Bellatrix was to remain in the headquarters, protecting both its secrecy and maintain surveillance on the trio, in case they tried to pull something off. The plan, of course, was greeted by less-than-happy Bellatrix who considered such a petty job a personal insult and a mockery of her skill. Hermione was then on the verge on snapping at the woman, informing her that she was less than fit to either watch over Walkers or stumble into a modeling agency without causing unnecessary stir, but thankfully Narcissa decided to step in, scolding her sister for her childlike behavior.

The atmosphere was tense. Hermione swallowed and sighed, her irritation a boiling mess gradually filling her full. Finally, she stood up from her chair, almost knocking it over and walked out of the kitchen. She considered for a moment going out and having a smoke, but then decided to walk upstairs, to the attic. She needed to see herself. She needed to talk to Harry.

'I need to talk to the two of you.' she said, stepping into the room. She was greeted by Ron's cursing and Harry's tense gaze. The other Hermione, however, looked at her with narrowed eyes. She could see the girl, her younger self to be precise, think.

'It's about the future?' the question that rolled off the girl's lips was more of a statement, and Hermione simply nodded, dead set on ignoring Ron's purple face.

'Please.' the words felt soft when she spoke it out, her gaze linking with her own dark eyes looking back from the younger and still-not-maimed face. 'I shouldn't, but you need to know.'

'Why not Ron?' when Harry spoke out, she almost trembled, violent, painful feelings gnawing at her chest. She felt her throat constrict, so she narrowed her eyes, fighting for her mask to hold in place.

'I'll tell you why.' it was a broken whisper and she hated it the moment she heard it. She was silently begging them to let her in, to lent her their trust. And they consented silently, Harry's eyes were suddenly full of pity and her young self nodded hastily, terror pooling her unmarred features.

She led them out of the attic and down to her bedroom, closing and warding the door behind them. She motioned for them to sit on her bed, the other Hermione was looking around, her eyes strikingly sad.

I miss my parents now, don't I?

She cleared her throat and in a shaky voice began her tale. She skipped any parts that were unnecessary, never mentioned anything about their future relations, merely claiming that Ron had failed them and therefore she could never trust him again (this they almost refused to believe, she saw in their eyes, but pressed on, eager to get it over and done with), and carried on the shortened and abridged tale of Muggle War. She looked at him, the man she loved so much it burnt fiercer than any Crucio, and saw his sadness, saw his despair and fear and almost ran to him, almost kissed him and cried out her utter adoration of him, but instead, she stood motionless, arms limp by her side, bottom lip viciously attacked by her own teeth, tasting the blood, using the physical pain as a decoy.

Suddenly the unthinkable happened: Hermione Granger's arms embraced Hermione Granger's waist. Her younger self clung to her with all her strength, knocking the air out of her lungs, sending them toppling backwards, smashing into the door. It was not awkward, it felt insane, a longing so profound that almost taking over filled her to the seams, and she hugged the girl back, mind caterwauling, all sanity forgotten.

'I'm so sorry.' the girl's voice broke off in a choked sob, her face buried in Hermione's neck, goosebumps instantly covering her arms and back.

'Shush.' she said, her voice constricted, her throat obscured, she almost gagged, almost choked, knowing, that she was actually talking to herself and buried her face, surprising herself, in the girl's hair, in her own, albeit younger, hair, and that set her off once again, the clutches of madness once again grasped her tightly, but she refused to give in.

'I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry...' the girl buried in her arms muttered unrelentingly, her voice full of tears and Hermione looked over her shoulder at Harry. They Boy Who Lived was gob-struck, mouth agape and his brilliant greens eyes shone with light she knew too well, the light of pain, the one that makes a gaze profound, nearly sacred.

Mind spinning, she thought of pain, of its strange holiness, its sharpness that cuts to the very soul of a person and lets something out, probably the tragic grandeur of Mankind only deep feelings can reveal. When Men love or suffer, they transcend over the mundane, for those feelings, love and pain, are intertwined, weaving what becomes a soul.

Rather to burn than give in, rather to die a million deaths than give in.

'How can we help?' Harry's eyes, those eyes she loved even now, locked with hers and she felt moved. Deeply, profoundly moved.

'I need to keep you safe.' she muttered, speaking to her younger self but looking at the boy who seemed to understand. 'You and I are I and I.' she kept talking, staring at the boy who would hopefully never have to become the man she loved 'Our fate is one. Whatever happens to you, happens to me, because you are me, more than I am or ever will be you.'

Those words were a mess. A fixture of verbs that no longer had any meaning. She was compelled, though, as if magicked, to say them out loud, to claim them and make them real.

'If we succeed, you will never become me. You will be what I, what you, what we were meant to be. I am the mutation, I am the worst case scenario. I swear by all I hold dear, I will undo it all.'

'What happens -?' the unfinished question Harry Potter uttered was a heavy weight.

'I don't know.' she spoke, softly 'And truth be told, I don't care. I am tired. I am very very tired. And if success means my undoing, I welcome it gladly.'

First the apparated to London and marched into a Hugo Boss franchise. Dolohov was amused, she observed him coolly while sorting out her attire. They needed something classy, dandy and expensive - but not offending. When one steps into a lion's den, one must play the lion. And playing it cheap or tasteless, was definitely not something acceptable. Finally Dolohov obtained a black suit, nothing too fancy, but yet bearing the unmistakable mark of wealth. She decided on a black skirt that was tight and rather provoking, a corset-like vest that showed off her cleavage and a paramilitary jacket with silver buttons. The next stop was a Manolo Blahnik store where she picked her shoes, stiletto heels and crocodile skin, something that looked a little like out of a porno movie but when astonishingly well with the rest of her attire. Then they marched to Prada and got a pair of boots for Dolohov. Finally they apparated to a hotel room, changed their outfits and apparated to the lobby. Hermione booked two rooms for Miss Veronique Clegane and Mister Sandor Barrentson, modified the clerk's memory into thinking he had seen their IDs and marched Dolohov to their respective rooms. There she made a phone call to an agency she had checked out earlier, asking for a meeting. They would pass as Eastern European agents, looking for models for a fashion show in Belgrade. It was a rather wild call, but hopefully no one would bother to ask additional questions, seeing Belgrade was remote enough to sound almost exotic. She was right and the meeting was to be held in two hours' time.

They went for a lunch in the hotel's restaurant. It was overpriced and not very good, she had a salad and Dolohov a plate of shrimps. The restaurant was empty, apart from them, there was only an elderly couple, a lady in a dark blue gown that reached the floor and her husband in burgundy suit. They were having a bottle of wine and talking in rapid French about the opera they wanted to see while visiting English relatives.

Hermione smiled, eavesdropping to the earnest. These people were relics of the past long gone, the very last aristocrats who could never adapt not accept the world around them was changing. She stole a glance at Dolohov, who was visibly shaken, probably realizing, that both their worlds, the Wizarding and the Muggle, shared the same issues. He met her eyes with a pained look on his face, gaunt and tormented. It was sad, she thought with a slight shiver, the world moves on, time never stops, nothing changes while people die and die out, nothing ever stops. The only movement possible is forwards.

A memory hit her while she was chewing a tomato. She was fifteen and in Pompeii, staring at the casts of people who had perished when Vesuvius exploded in fiery rage, bringing death and destruction to a wealthy merchant city, and thinking about the unpredictability of life. You wake up one day, never knowing it is your last, you go about your daily routine, whether it's trade or sex or tending to the children, and suddenly you find yourself standing face to face with nothingness. It hit her then, the uncertainty of existence, the very Memento Mori people tried these days not to remember about, and she trembled, at awe and in panic, realizing life's bitter glory. Now, however, she was thinking about passing over. Your perspective is always your own, you think that upon your dying breath, the world will stop, they time will freeze. But nothing ever stops. Every second someone dies and someone is born, it's a circle that goes on despite your needs and fears and wants. Some, however, cling to the past, evoking the ghosts of something that will never come back, be it a love lost or a tradition once upheld.

Looking at Dolohov, she knew he was thinking about similar things.

'I was a fool to believe.' he said, his voice hoarse with tension 'Now I see. We are all truly one.' there was a bitterness in his words, the very bitterness of someone who once believed you can turn the current of the river with a stick.

'Nothing is immortal.' she answered languidly, remembering her own words, spoken to Bellatrix that strange night when masks fell crumbling down. 'Panta rhei, everything flows. In idem flumen bis non descendimus.'

'What?' he looked puzzled now, his eyebrows high, his sunken cheeks pale.

'You can't step twice into the same river.' she translated from Latin 'It's an old proverb by Heraclitus of Ephesus.'

'A very wise man he was.' Dolohov smiled ruefully. 'Too bad I haven't come across these words earlier. For him' he added gloomily 'it was all about power. For me about stepping into the same river twice. A fool to believe.' he repeated his own words, a peculiar grin coloring his features.

'There are things that break us. All of us.' she stood up, pushing her plate away 'A thing for every single one of was, be it love or longing or desire or a simple flaw. We all fall, Antonin.'

He stood up as well, locking eyes with her with a strained look and then nodded, a sign of agreement, of consent and sorrow. Like a kiss to seal a deal.

'Let us go then, you and I.' he said softly and she cocked an eyebrow at him, surprised, but he returned to notion and she smiled to herself.

A noble accident.

The agency was on the twentieth floor of a silvery skyscraper, right in the very core of the City. A tired-looking blonde in the lobby greeted them upon their arrival and acknowledged the phone call. They waited for a quarter, the a sliding door on the left opened and a chunky man walked, his hair pushed back in tight pony tail.

'William, William McIntyre.' he greeted them heartily and added, seeing Hermione's expression 'Unrelated to the philosopher, sadly.'

'Veronique Clegane and Sandor Barrentson.' she introduced Dolohov and herself and the man nodded vigorously, asking them to step into his office. It was offensively bright and spacious, with sketches put on the walls and a glass desk beside a huge window.

'I just love the view.' McIntyre gestured, his hand movements almost erratic 'It gives the sense of freedom, you know. Ah, to spread the wings and fly!' there was something immensely annoying about him, a theatrical aura of a failed actor that he probably was. 'To soar into the blue skies and be finally rid of the mundane shackles of everyday life.' his tirade had its effects on Dolohov as well who clenched his jaw disdainfully, boredom coloring his eyes. 'Alas!' he lifted a finger, pointing it at Hermione who truly hated being pointed at 'Alas! We cannot fly, we mortals. That's why we invented fashion.' he paused, presumably for the dramatic effect to sink in and Hermione, taking it as a cue, widened her eyes with false admiration. That worked well, the man bared his teeth, all white and glinting and obviously modified by a whole team of dentists (being a dentists' daughter had its perks), in a toothy grin and nodded his head 'The realm of creativity unleashed. The only chance of bringing true beauty to this sad place known as Earth. My friends' he said cheerfully 'I am always overcome with joy, when I meet with the likes of you, traveling continents in search of immortality.'

Continents? Geography, duh.

'What do you seek? An ice queen, cold goddess to break the hearts of men? A fiery redhead to woo your audience? A dark panther who will show you what true desire feels like?'

What on Earth is this supposed to be? A brothel? I'm not looking for a whore but a model. Dammit.

'Friend' Dolohov spoke out all of the sudden, hand raised in a halting movement 'we seek a Viking queen.' he put on his best fake accent, sounding as thick and European as possible without overdoing it.

It was a smart move, McIntyre looked at him with interest, something very strange pooling his eyes, he tilted his head, run a ringed finger through his hair and nodded slowly.

'A Valkyrie. A true daughter of Odin, tall and unbending, blond and cold but not fragile.' she piped in, trying to diffuse the odd tension that filled the room, staring at McIntyre in hopes he would stop gawking at Dolohov with -

-it hit her like a hammer, and she would have snickered if the situation was different. It was this hunger that's quite obvious in its pleading and sorrow, the eternal struggle of a man who found himself attracted to another, yet - for some reason - denying or denied his right to call the urge by its true name. McIntyre was gazing at Dolohov with repressed lust which mixed with acid sense of failure, the forbidden fruit which cannot be even named, the bitter longing what is not accepted.

And it was odd, truly odd, for gay men in the fashion merchandise, at least, were as stereotypical as common -and there was absolutely nothing wrong in it either. Yet here they were, faced with McIntyre who, for some reason, felt compelled to refuse himself the truth.

'Tall and unbending?' McIntyre repeated softly 'A dark, tormented prince -ss' the stutter was almost inaudible, the halt almost unnoticeable, a trait achieved only by those who truly fought for control over themselves 'to be salvaged by love?'

'No' Dolohov, bewildered and uncomfortable, his aggression rising in great pace, shook his head 'Not dark. Blonde.'

'Yes.' the eye connection was finally broken and McIntyre dropped his gaze on his leather boots, all pointy and shiny, like a kid's Halloween costume 'I think I've got someone for your tastes. She's Swedish. Let me show you the portfolio.'

And so he did, and they stared at a woman who was blonde and tall and pretty in a very average way. They agreed to meet her, stressing that they don't have much time and their schedule is tight, this evening, in a bar called The Three Sticks. If they found her to their tastes, they would return the next day and fill in the papers. With that, they thanked McIntyre for his time and said their goodbyes, knowing they will never be returning to this bright and terribly heartbreaking office.

The music was almost deafening, a scrawny DJ blaring sounds that instantly made them feel sick, bass line pummeling ferociously into their intestines. Dolohov even doubled over a little bit, alarm painted on his face in bright colors. People clad in fancy clothes were pushing all around, a heavy, sexual aura filling the air. They found a table Hermione had booked earlier and sat, Dolohov glancing around with evident distaste. She felt almost embarrassed for those people, each and every one of them inadvertently lost and in desperate search of some meaning, even meager and plain. It was a night of hunting, those who were lonely would gather in a confined space, searching for a Harlequin love that would, during the night, degenerate to a one night stand, fueled by music and alcohol. Those who searched for adventure or sensation, would find themselves trying to enter a trance, to transgress human nature and embrace the Divine, dance themselves in a silly pop-culture parody of shamanism, and the end of the night would bring them nothing but weariness, sore muscles and sweaty bodies, head splinting with vicious ache, the aftermath of exposure to powerful decibels. There was something precarious about big dance clubs, the wealthier they were, the sadder they truly were, an obligation paid in ticket fee to have fun, fun at all costs, fun that had become the very goal of human existence. Fitter, happier, more productive, nothing less - and nothing more.

The theme of the night were Sumero-Akkadian gods, a quite brave if not a little mistaken idea. A plaster relief depicting Inanna, Enlil and Marduk (the latter was a big mistake on the decorator's side) was covering the wall behind the DJ podium, the goddess of love and war looked a little less than divine and a little much like a half-naked model with a short, Roman infantry, sword and an-Athena like helmet on her head, the primordial god of wind and breath and breadth resembled a gladiator and was, for some reason, holding Poseidon's trident, and the patron deity of Babylon had lost his trademark beard in favor of some sappy Spartan armor.

A pop-culture monstrosity, a hollow crown to fulfill hollow pursuit, or maybe Hermione was just feeling sad and everything she looked upon turned black.

Then the model arrived, her skinny agent in tow. She had a strong accent and an eager face, something Hermione found repulsive. Dolohov did the talking, she barely paid heed. The model, however, seemed disinterested in him and kept sending Hermione prolonged gazes, as if testing for some response. Finally, fed up to the back of her teeth with those glances, Hermione simply asked her to dance -and it was a bull's eye, the woman smiled, batted her eyelashes and Dolohov chuckled, the sound only reaching the witch's ears.

The dance floor was overcrowded and stiffening, the model used this as an opportunity to wrap herself around Hermione and she suddenly found herself pressed into and repressed by huge bosom and invading scent of heavy perfume, a combination she instantly regarded as formidable. They danced or rather the model brushed her body against Hermione's, invasive, cheap and tipsy for a prolonged period of time: every now and then Hermione would try to break free of her clutches only to find herself pulled in even deeper. Finally she snapped, pulled the girl's hair in a false outburst of eroticism, pecked her on the lips and pushed away, a handful of golden locks between her fingers. She returned to the table, looked at Dolohov's amused eyes and surprised herself by bending over and kissing him full on the lips, the action as innocent as spontaneous -and reciprocated immediately. Before he managed to engulf her into a full snog, she moved her head, breathed against his ear a heated 'Let's go!'

He nodded his consent, shook hands with the manager and smirked openly at the very furious model, his features smug with brute claiming of Hermione, something she usually detested but now cherished like a long lost treasure. The Swedish opponent stood her ground though, batting her eyelashes at Hermione in a desperate attempt at regaining her attention, her body language informing she would not mind a threesome if that was the price for a night with Hermione.

She pulled Dolohov out, he looked at her slightly bedazzled and shrugged with apparent ease 'I don't care about same sex relationships.'

'Me neither -unless I'm being almost raped by a crude, huge Viking woman wearing black leather dress that barely covers her ass.'

'What's wrong with leather?' there was mockery in his voice, but maintained on a cheeky-friendly level 'Shall we grab a drink? To cool you off from your precarious nearly-one night stand?'

'Shut up. And yes.'

It was supposed to be a single shot of vodka -and then immediate return to the headquarters. They were gone for a long time now. But Dolohov was cheerful and constantly amused, and they were in a dingy little bar full of bikers with mustaches and tattoos, and she was wearing a short dress and receiving eyefulls all the time and Dolohov was showing off, and so the one shot turned to many.

When they apparated back, it was already almost dawn and they were quite pissed.

The moment their soles hit the pavement outside the house, they sobered up. Something was wrong. Something being ten Death Eaters attacking headquarters, Yaxley in lead. For a split second she watched as Narcissa Malfoy struck one of them with a stunner and then, Dolohov at her side, viciously attacked the enemy from behind. Not bothering with thinking about any other spell and still too angry to care, she shot an avada at Yaxley, missed and hit a man on his left who fell down, dead before he hit the ground.

That had the Death Eaters' attention, Yaxley retaliated before even turning to face them, a Killing Curse that narrowly missed Dolohov.

'Traitor!' the man growled at Antonin, his mask-less face contorted in cold hatred 'And the filthy whore.' this one was directed at her and she was quite drunk so instead of ignoring the remark, she smiled a very saccharine smile and said 'Crucio.' He shielded himself in a blink of an eye, sending her own curse back at her, forcing her to fall on her fours in order to avoid it, therefore giving another Death Eater a perfect opportunity to attack her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young man raise his wand, but before he managed to holler his curse, Draco slashed him with a Sectumsempra that turned fatal, slicing him in half. She pushed herself up, Dolohov dueling three opponents at her side, pointed her wand at a car on which two Death Eaters were standing, probably using it as the upper ground and completely unaware of its lethal potential, and yelled 'Confringo!'.

The explosion kill them instantly and its power threw both sides on the ground. She saw Bellatrix conjure a magic shield on the other side of the explosion, its spectrum broad enough to cover Narcissa and Draco as well as herself. Their eyes met and Hermione saw the woman smile, and then her own shield went up and flames encompassed everything for few moments.

There were casualties on both sides, she saw when the fire disappeared. No one, apart from the unlucky duo, perished, though. But the tables had turned now and Yaxley's men were outnumbered. Those who could stand instantly formed a circle, standing back to back with each other, wands at ready and faces set. No one bothered with stunning or injuring now, they were fighting to kill and the air was thick with green flashes of death. She saw a Death Eater on Yaxley's right fall, hit by Bellatrix's curse, the gap momentarily was filled in and the circle grew smaller. Then Scabior fell, miraculously struck by a wounding spell and Snape was beside him in a second, covered by Rowle and Draco who were pushing forward.

Dolohov and her took cover behind a wide oak that grew on Mrs. Adam's property, curses were grazing the barks, filling the air with splinters. She saw an opportunity, a single Death Eater focused on Dolohov who stepped out from his cover, and she charged, flinging forward, and her Killing Curse smashed into the man who crashed into Yaxley, who lost his footing.

Suddenly something strange happened. She saw Draco turn left instead of taking a shot at Dolohov, fear pooling his features and looked into the direction he was looking at -and saw a Muggle child, eyes huge and frightened. The distraction had been enough for Yaxley, who yelled in victory and send his Avada at the blond boy. As though in slow motion, she saw Draco turn round, see the curse and freeze, split seconds between him and his death.

She heard a scream, a deep, powerful scream that shook the very foundation of Earth and looked in wonder for its source - and she saw Lucius Malfoy, coming at great pace, his eyes set on his only sound, his mouth wide open as he yelled. But he would be too late, the green light was very close now, inches away from Draco's chest.

She saw him jump. He made it. The moment the Killing Curse struck Draco, Lucius Malfoy pushed himself between. Still in slow motion, she saw him tense and the fall, a limp crash of a dead body, limbs sprawling.

And there was fury and she saw red, as though through haze. But before she managed to kill Yaxley, Narcissa Malfoy hit him with Sectumpsempra so precise it cut his head off; as a fountain of blood shoot up, the Death Eaters started to back down, their surrender, however would not be accepted. They craved for death now and death they embraced, killing in fury and pain, until no one was remained alive, ten cloaked bodied lying on the ground, some dismembered, some churned, some in poodles of blood and some looking as if they were asleep.

There was silence, a prolong, heavy silence as Draco Malfoy cradled his father's dead body on his lap, as Narcissa knelt by her husband and took his hand and kissed it with reverence, as they walked towards the trio, wands down, as they formed a circle around them and lowered their heads, paying last honors to the man who has been a coward for all his life only to find his redemption in the face of Death -and gave his life for his son's.

And Hermione was forcibly reminded of the words she had tried to erase from her memory.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.

As though from a great distance, she saw herself walked towards Bellatrix, some fiery feeling overtaking her fully, and Bellatrix was standing still, looking at her in a very odd way, something burning beneath her eyelids, her pace was steady, the pace of someone who knows their purpose, she reached out towards the older woman, they were close now -Dolohov obscured her vision, his face full of concern and whatever had been driving her, was no gone, an illusion, an adrenaline-generated after battle pull, so channeled it, grabbed him roughly, arms thrown on his shoulders, and without halting or waiting, she stood on her toes and kissed him, shoved her tongue into his mouth, his beard scratching her chin, and closed her eyes, drowning in the kiss, showering him with all the passion she had misdirected just moments ago.

And he responded, strong arms encircled her waist and moved south, landing on her ass, pulling her closer -and up, so she jumped and he pulled and suddenly her legs were around his hips and he carried her inside, the two of the disregarding anything, loss in the carnality of their actions; he carried her upstairs and they collapsed into the bed, as he hiked her skirt, she undid the zipper in his pants and reached and pulled him into her almost brutally. He grunted and pushed, and they fucked, it was as short, as aggressive, his teeth raking across her face, her nails digging into his scalp. As soon as they started, they finished and she pushed him off, sat up and pulled skirt down.

He never cocked an eyebrow, his smile full of agreement. It was no romance, it was a post-battle fuck, something driven by adrenaline and brutal, deprived of any emotion than just carnal desire, the desire to fuck and kill simultaneously.

She left the room, walked downstairs and outside, pulling a pack of cigarettes out the pocket on her way, and marched away, not bearing to steal a single glance at the survivors or the bodies. Focusing solely on her destination, she disapparated and with a faint pop, she found herself atop a very familiar cliff, moonlight grazing the sea.

It was the very spot where she had sought tranquility before the last battle. She lit the cigarette and stood on the very edge, unafraid of the fall, almost willing to overbalance and embrace the sea, perfectly sated, perfectly hallow


	19. A Hair on the Head of John the Baptist

The filthy Mudblood.

Oh, how she despised the obnoxious woman. How sweet it would be to crucio her to oblivion. To make her scream and plead and howl and beg, beg for the mercy of death.

Bellatrix was definitely not happy. She watched as the Mudblood made her way towards her, dressed in black, swaying slightly in heels that made her seem even taller than normally, her cleavage heaving, her face pale and eyes alight with such flames no magic could conjure, her still-black hair dancing in the breeze, a very vision of ravaging beauty - and then, the filth, the bitch, she turned and kissed him, Dolly.

Like a slap. Only that there was no reason for Bellatrix to feel as if slapped.

But then, when the Mudblood and Dolly made their way upstairs, something clicked in her head. Of course. It was because a Mudblood was going to fuck a pure-blood, a disgusting crime, a perverse act, so disgusting in its abominable nature, that it drove her nauseous. Hence the slap-like sensation. Hence the most unwelcome dizziness. And hence the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Ha.

Everything finally made sense.

Yet she stood there, glued to the spot, unable to move away, almost tempted to follow them upstairs, punch the Mudblood and kill Dolly. Slowly.

Probably... He's a blood traitor AND he's associating with filth. Yes.

She snapped out of her thoughts and focused on the scene unfolding few feet away from her. Lucy had proven he had balls, after all. Torn between a grim approval of his actions and the sheer embarrassment of his family's reaction, Bellatrix stood on her spot and gawked. There was Draco, on his knees, cradling his father's corpse, tears staining his face, there was Narcissa, almost lying beside her husband, repeatedly kissing his palm.

Such weakness, such blatant and humiliating display of weakness. She wanted to sneer and grimace, faintly remembering itty-bitty-baby Potter's spasms over Useless Black's demise in the Department of Mysteries (after the fiasco nothing was the same, the Dark Lord was angry with her; she was his fiercest and she was his least subordinate, always praised and always punished, the black scapegoat of her Lord's). She wanted to sneer and smile her disdain at them, yet her face was frozen, the more she tried to leer, the more her muscles refused to obey.

And a small, vicious voice in her head, kept reminding her of what was happening upstairs.

Treason, that's what was happening. Utter, disgusting, abhorrent and abominable treason. She was forcibly reminded of her disgust when her Lord had told them, not so long ago, of that weakling toad's, Burbage's, idea of mating between Magic and Muggle. It was the same, no matter who mated, just the same, there was nothing more to it, just a burning sin of blood treason, nothing else.

'Bella?' Snape's voice cut like a razor through her thought.

'Snivellus.' she snapped, staring at the man, the slimeball, with a proper lack of interest and disdain 'You want something from me or is it just a friendly chit chat?'

'Are you all right?' he looked at her, nonplussed and annoying, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, the very same way you look at something small and helpless - and she was anything but helpless.

'Yes. Why would I ever be not?'

'I don't know. You look sad. Or tired.' the moment he spoke these words, she wanted nothing more and nothing less than just to strike him down with such a powerful Crucio he would snap underneath it like a dry twig. Instead she simply looked at him pointedly, forcing him to take a step back, and then brushed past him, sauntering towards the house, heels clicking with her every step, a sound she held so dear. She liked to walk with a purpose, step sharply and look ahead, never sideways nor down, chin high and eyes inscrutable, this was what she had been born to be, a Queen on the chessboard of the world.

She stepped into the kitchen and listened, almost daring them to make a sound. But the house was quiet, oddly serene, as if nothing ever happened, as if the whole world consisted of just this room -and it felt like Azkaban, like the cell which had been her entire world for over fourteen years, oppressive and always shrinking, shrinking until the point when the walls would come crumbling down squeezing her into a pulp. The too-familiar sinking feeling of being locked away, like a discarded toy, washed over her with tremendous power and Bellatrix walked back outside, fighting against the desire to run.

She stopped walking the moment she took her first breath of fresh air, just barely outside the house, on a little brick path that led from the pavement to the little stairs, arms limp at her side, and watched them, Snape and her family and others, observed as they moved the bodies.

Suddenly something brushed past her, almost shoving her in its wake. Instantly she raised her wand and squinted her eyes, ready to hex for the insult.

Mudblood.

The woman was walking at rapid pace, without even bothering to take a look at what was happening. She walked down the road a little bit and then disapparated.

Dolly was a bad shag. Ha!

She almost smiled -and immediately scowled. Filthy, treacherous creature deserved no better. And Bellatrix had nothing to revel in, it was insignificant, petty, mortal issues, so unimportant in the great scheme of the universe, something she would not acknowledge, not once, not ever. So she turned to face Lucy's body instead, only to find it missing and a very sullen Narcissa making her way towards her.

'Well, little sister' Bellatrix cooed 'it seems like Lucy was not that cowardly in the end.'

'Why do you have to do that, Bella?' the little, sad and quiet question shook her off her balance, her sister's blue eyes, oh so perfect blue eyes, locked with hers, something intense swimming in them, so she widened her eyes in false surprise and chipped 'What's the problem, Cissy? Sad that poor, old Lucy's moved on?'

A sharp, stinging sensation jerked her head sideways. Reeling, she turned to face her sister, cheek burning fiercely and saw Narcissa's lifted palm. Slapped. She had been slapped -by her blood traitor little sister Cissy. She almost set her mind to crucioing her for the insult, but then decided against it.

Petty, mortal issues, nothing, a little pain and so much weakness, pity.

'Don't you dare, Bella!' Cissy's voice had a ringing quality about it.

Impressive.

'Little Cissy's gone cheeky. Be careful, baby sister.' she cackled gleefully 'You might have been a Black once and we Blacks protect our own, but you're a blood traitor now, so there's nothing to hold me back if you step over the line!'

'Fine.' Cissy snapped at her her, folding her arms on her chest.

'Fine what?' her sister's display was impressive, truly, she found it almost pleasant, so she lifted her eyebrows and waited with excitement for the reply.

'Fine crucio me or attack me, it's, after all, all you can do, Bella.'

She felt her jaw drop. Certainly, it was not what she had expected. Masking her temporary weakness, she smiled at her sister. 'I think you underestimate my skills, Cissy, if you think that's all I can do. I dare you to challenge me, but don't come crying back if something goes wrong.'

It was a long moment then, in which her sister regarded her carefully, the way an animal regards something it does not recognize, and finally Cissy tilted her head, lips pursed and eyes very cold. 'Where is she?'

The question caught her off guard and then she figured it out in a flash of anger. 'Who?' it was purposefully disinterested, mocking.

'Hermione.'

'Who's Hermione?' she was almost trembling now in anger she could not understand, but maintained her stance, the cold, bored Bellatrix, who never paid heed to silly things. It was easier and it was necessary.

Her sister shook her head, slowly, eyes wide and glued to her face. 'Never mind.' those pink lips curled with something acid, a bitter grim twisting their corners down, revealing those flashy with teeth and the blue eyes trailed off, brimming with utmost disgust, as if Bella was something... foul. With that, Cissy turned away and walked past her, indoors, leaving her there, unable to move with shock.

Never, never in her life had her sister looked at her like that. Never. Like the way a Death Eater looks at a filthy Mudblood that is crawling on the floor, body loathsome with the stench of sweat and fear, teary eyes, a single request for death on their chapped lips; like the way her Dark Lord looked at blood traitor as they crawled in dust at his feet; like a pure blood should look on a demented House Elf.

She stood there, motionless for few seconds, staring at nothing at all, and then forcefully regained her stance, merciful anger flooding her veins, the steady beat of her heart always strong, never faltering. She turned and stormed after her sister, ready to attack, ready to attack, but undecided as of yet. Most of the people returned as well, she saw her useless nephew sulking on the couch (the very same couch Bellatrix had suffered through the most uncanny conversation with the Mudblood, a fact that sent another shiver fly down her spine), blond head bowed, hands scratching at the scalp, as if the boy was fighting an urge so powerful it took his entire willpower to battle it, there was Snape beside him, standing close by, saying something almost under his breath, a murmur of words; she stalked into the kitchen, but found it empty. Wherever Cissy had gone to was now a mystery, a mystery she was eager to ponder.

It was already well into morning, the sun pretty high up and birds chirping as if they had nothing better to do (probably they didn't), when Cissy returned, the Mudblood in tow. She watched them from her seat; the blonde locks of her sister's hair versus that eerie blackness of the girl's, the light one and the darkness, a stark contradiction. The Mudblood looked exhausted; features almost blurred in their paleness, her eyes sharp though, marking her with the air of someone who maintained constant vigilance; she looked so skinny that Bellatrix almost felt as if the girl was about to perish from malnutrition any time soon and it was somehow unnerving.

They stood in the corridor, in Bellatrix' plane view yet both paying her so little heed it was an insult, a mockery once again. Her sister turned to face the Mudblood, reached out and held her palm, probably imploring for her attention, lips moving without sound, telling her something -and the girl nodded, consent or defeat, Bellatrix could not tell. And then the Mudblood broke off the contact, turned and suddenly looked Bellatrix dead in the eye. And Bellatrix gulped, immediately drowning in their immense depth; it felt like the girl's eyes were just bottomless pits, not hollow though, but alight with some fierceness accentuated with those delicate scars that marred her face; something predatory about her, some odd quality of someone who never cared anymore, or had seen too much, or was just dead-set on accomplishing whatever she had decided to, set alarms in Bellatrix's head flaring.

Pity she's no pure blood. Pity she's filth. She'd make a fine Death Eater.

The girl moved, finally, after what felt like millennium -and made her way in Bellatrix's direction. She was walking slowly, almost tentatively as if Bellatrix was an animal she did not want to scare, and the she found herself taking a deep breath. But the girl walked past and she turned, as if magically compelled to, to follow her wake. The girl stopped when she reached a cupboard of sorts, tall and white, and opened it with a yank. A little light shone from inside and she sensed a wave of cool air and smelled food. The Mudblood took something out, a bottle that looked like glass only less transparent, full of dark brown liquid.

'What?' the Mudblood must have felt her lingering gazed and turned her head to face her, an eyebrow flying up, the scar that ran across it made the expression somehow sharp or menacing 'Never seen a coke before? a small smile played on her lips 'You haven't. You couldn't have.' there was a hint of laughter in her voice and Bellatrix considered becoming affronted, but before she set her mind to, the girl shot her a broad grin, surprisingly friendly, disarming her fully 'Would like some, then? I swear it's good.'

'Fine.' she held her chin up, glaring at the liquid with disbelief 'But if it's bad, you know, I shall have you suffer.'

'Deal.' the girl broke off their eye-contact and summoned to glasses with a lazy flick of her wand, something quite impressive, considering it was a Snatcher's wand, not a one that chose her; with a soft thud both glassed landed on the table and the girl brought the bottle closer and poured that coke 'Careful, it's fizzy.'

'Fizzy?'

'Yeah. That means if you down it too fast, it might go up your nose. Trust me, I've been there and it's definitely not nice.' the girl kept smiling and even though it was quite a social smile, it held some predatory quality in it.

Oh, as Bellatrix's palm grasped the glass, she felt a twinge of surprise. Oh, you have changed, little Mudblood, since I last saw you. You were an ugly kid back then, all sugar and smiles and round eyes full that delicious fear.

'Would you please stop staring at me?' it wasn't a girl speaking to her, it was a woman. A tall and extremely famished woman, with unnaturally black hair, alabaster skin marred with two scars and eyes that burnt like coals, what once was chocolate, now was golden-dark, an odd combination of colors that made her think of mahogany and fire. The woman was dressed in Muggle clothes, tall in stiletto heels, with ample bosom -

'Or what?' she growled, her train of thoughts derailing on purpose. Since when did I think of such things? Nonsense. Weary. Less effective.

'Or nothing.' the Mudblood, the treacherous whore who dared to bed her superiors, shrugged offensively, nonplussed and unimpressed - and Bellatrix once again found herself considering a proper Crucio for a better measure.

She took a hesitant sip. The fizzy drink wasn't bad. It was sugary and rich, a taste that left a strange sensation in her mouth, as if her teeth had been covered with something sticky. She ran her tongue across her teeth only to see the Mudblood look away with a strange look on her face.

'Is there something wrong?' she snapped at the pretentious bitch, anger boiling like the seething mass it was, always black, always right beneath the surface, ready to take over and spill out in a vast array of curses and gore.

[Miss Black, quite a nasty temper you've got.]

'You know' the woman looked her dead in the eye, her expression slightly strained 'your teeth did not, uh, find Azkaban too agreeable.'

'You dare -MOCK MY TEETH?!' the moment the angry outburst left her mouth two things happened. The Mudblood looked at her as if she had lost her marbles and she realized how tremendously stupid that had sounded.

Mock my teeth. Really?

As if reading her mind, the woman repeated 'Mock your teeth? Bellatrix...'

Too furious to address the statement in any other way, she resorted to what was the most obvious, and she flung the glass at the woman, liquid spilling in the air; but the girl simply flinched, moving sideways and the glass missed her by inches.

Were she less angry, she would find that display immensely impressive. Such reflexes were a rare quality. A little voice in the back of her head, one that had this odd tendency to comment on her actions, most of the times rather dismissively (Really, Bellatrix, a crucio? Someone's become touchy. Really, Bellatrix? Punch in the face for just looking at you?) forced her to admit that indeed, the Mudblood's reflexes deserved a praise.

'Well, there went the coke.' the woman observed airily and simply walked out of the kitchen, hips swaying and the glass in her hand.

They spend the day burying people and running about their errands, exhausted and waiting for the evening so they could collapse into their beds after a twenty-four hour long day. Wesker made contact, demanding to meet the Mudblood tomorrow. He stated -and she repeated it to them -that probably he would be followed. The disappearance, the Muggle realized, was suspicious. They had to know whether his mistress was real or just an alibi.

For a Muggle, he was not the fool she had once thought they all were.

The Mudblood had a long talk with Dolly. Oh, how she wanted to eavesdrop and then crucio the two of them for the sheer audacity of fooling around with each other, but her blood traitor sister dragged her away, her expression oddly resembling their Mother's.

'Really, Bella?' her sister asked exasperatedly 'Really?'

She fumed, ready to burst, but had no means of retaliation. Especially that Mudblood Two (the young version of the Mudblood) walked downstairs, followed by the baby Potter and the ginger brat. And the Squib reported back, after being gone for what felt like few days. Making a scene in front of those mongrels did not sound like a good idea.

The Mudblood had them all gather in the kitchen. The ginger weasel was still purple on the face, glaring at everybody and, at the same time, cowering like the filthy coward he was. The Mudblood was waiting for them, once again in her leather outfit, that shiny Muggle wand in her palms (she was toying with it, idly spinning it in her hands); she was sitting on the table, legs crossed and a very disinterested expression on her face. When she saw them all arrive, she merely jumped off the table and walked to her chair.

'First things first.' she said softly, locking her eyes with Mudblood Two -and the little girly girl nodded, although paling slightly at the remark. The Mudblood put her Muggle wand on the table and produced a real wand from somewhere in her jacket. The ginger eyed the instrument with obvious discomfort that soon turned to panic, when the Mudblood approached him. He almost ran for it, but Dolly's hand pushed into his shoulder, forcing him to remain on the spot.

'Ron.' the Mudblood looked him in the eye 'Harry consented -and so did I. I mean' her gaze darted to Mudblood Two, who nodded nervously 'she did. The, uh, young me. Anyway' she swallowed harshly and again glued those dark pools of hers to the boy 'it's for the best' she finished quietly and pointed the wand at him 'Obliviate.'

Simultaneously Snape shoved an item into his hand, a worn sock Bellatrix realized, and then, with a crack the boy was gone.

'The Portkey will take him to his parents.' she said to no one in particular 'He'll remember that he split ways with the two of you in London after an argument and apparated on the spot.'

'The sock will disintegrate the moment he reaches his destination.' Snape added and looked at the Mudblood in what looked like a questioning manner. She simply nodded and then refocused on Mudblood Two and baby Potter 'Well, sit down. We'll talk.'

'Hermione?' a small voice that made the woman jump. Mudblood Two had just addressed her.

'Yes?' there was a hint of panic in the woman's voice. Bellatrix could pretty well understand it.

'Will Ron -will he be alright?'

'Yes. Why not?' the answer was a broke whisper, something Bellatrix found both intimate and pitiful.

Too much to handle, isn't it... Muddy?

Mudblood Two nodded, tears glistering in her eyes, an obvious display of pathetic weakness, and took her seat in silence. The Mudblood shook her head like someone who is trying to clear their head, and then marched to her chair, her face oddly blank. If it wasn't for her eyes that were bright despite their darkness, she could pretty well pass as a wax statue. The woman sat down and rested her palms on the table, the Muggle wand few inches away from her fingertips and cleared her throat.

'Harry and I' she said in a cool, composed voice 'and by this I mean my younger self, will assist us with tasks at hand.'

'Are you sure? Is it safe?' Draco, her worthless, spineless shame of a nephew, cut in immediately, his eyes round suddenly.

'It's the safest - to keep them close.' the woman answered levelly 'Id' rather keep an eye -'

'For you, Hermione. Is it safe for you?' now her sister joined in, her eyes glued to the Mudblood, concern coloring those blue orbs Bellatrix knew so well.

The woman swallowed once again and nodded 'It's for the best. Maybe one day she'll -ah, never mind that now.' she finished, somehow lamely and looked at Snape, who narrowed his eyes, calculating.

'What is she talking about?' Bellatrix, who took her seat beside the slimeball, whispered to him and he merely rolled his eyes.

'If she decides to tell you, you'll know, Bella.' he whispered back.

'Then why isn't she telling me?' she demanded, ire rising immediately.

'I don't know, do I?' he replied coldly.

She felt someone's eyes on her and she raised her own only to meet the Mudblood's questioning gaze: an eyebrow cocked and some display of uncertainty painted on her face.

'Well' she challenged the woman instantly, raising her voice for the room to hear and learn of her disdain 'I'd rather know if you're planning on suicide.'

She saw the woman's eyes widen with surprise. 'What?'

'Who knows when you lose it, Muddy.' she send the Mudblood a broad grin and, with utmost disappointment, she saw the woman shrug at her, her expression rather exasperated and most definitely not hurt or affronted.

'If I do, I'll let you know. Sorry to have let you down, Bellatrix. But I'm not checking out any soon.' her voice was icy and the tones were bored. Then the Mudblood looked away and focused on Scabior instead 'How did it happen that the spying team ended up ambushed?'

'It was a trap.' Rowle answered instead, his expression rather sour 'We were following Yaxley's team in distance, when suddenly it turned out they were aware of our presence and attacked us.'

'Did you bring them here?' the woman inquired in a rather imperious manner.

'Uh... Scabior...' Rowle licked his lips with distress.

'Scabior what?' the demand was delivered in harsh tones 'What did Scabior do?'

'He tried to make a run for it and Yaxley' Rowle scratched his cheek, sweat beading his forehead 'sort of grabbed him and -'

She cackled. Of course. Unworthy, cowardly mongrels who didn't know better. It was almost delightful to watch the Mudblood's elaborate scheme come undone by the lack of spirit in her men.

'So' the woman's voice cut like a knife, its blade frozen and razor-sharp 'Scabior side-apparated a team of Death Eaters here?'

There was a moment of heavy silence and Bellatrix shivered with pleasant anticipation. Maybe she would get to torture them as a punishment for their failure. Maybe she could accidentally miscast and send a crucio at Dolly as well.

'Y -yes.' Rowle nodded.

'Fucking hell. Un-fucking-believable. Bloody, gory hell and fucking whores on spikes. You -you -fucking idiots!' the Mudblood's voice quavered with anger, her hands in her hair and her left eyebrow high up 'I can't believe it.' she shook her head vehemently 'I understand that you can fall into an ambush but why the fucking hell did you apparate here of all the places?'

It was delightful. The profanities that rolled from the Mudblood's mouth were like punches that had Cissy blush and Draco's mouth agape, that had Snape recoil and Mudblood Two blush severely, that had Dolly - Dolly was chuckling, his eyes merry as he stared at the Mudblood and Bellatrix's fingers clasped around the wand, ready to fire.

But then a strong hand grabbed her own. She turned and hissed, spitting saliva at veins popping. It was the Sleazeball.

'Can't you control yourself even a little bit, Bellatrix?' Snape's voice was cold and full of such contempt she felt like killing him with her bare hands at the stop.

A spell hit her and the wand went flying from her hand. Shocked, she turned only to see baby Potter's outstretched hand, grabbing the wand in mid-air. He ignored her and looked at the Mudblood, a very sheepish smile on his face. She nodded. And only then looked at Bellatrix. 'Please, Bellatrix. I would be eternally thankful if you refrained from cursing anyone at the moment.'

'My wand!' she snarled barely managing to control her voice 'The -such an audacity -the brat -he dares to -'

'For fuck's sake!' the Mudblood stood up, sending the chair crushing down with a deafening thud 'Can't we do anything right without going at our throats!?' the fury in her voice shook Bellatrix out her own anger. She blinked, staring at the woman whose eyes were sending thunderbolts at them, the air almost cracking with pure, undiluted magic that her body emitted in its rage 'Scabior side-along apparates a bloody Death Eater party and we can't even talk without you' those mad eyes now struck at Bellatrix, reminding her suddenly of the Dark Lord's angry gazes 'going fucking bonkers!'

'I'm fed up! Fucking Death Eaters that act like bloody children all the time -I'm just surprised he hadn't finished you off earlier -What's the prerequisite? To be nutters?' the woman was now yelling at them, visibly on the very verge of cursing them all to hell 'I refuse to cooperate with you -blood maniacs that don't even possess a bloody ounce of self control!'

It came as surprise. Mudblood Two stood up from her chair, marched towards her older self -and slapped her with such force that the sound rang in the room. The woman froze in mid-motion and then, after what felt like centuries, recoiled and glared at the girl.

'Mind your bloody language!' the itty-bitty Mudblood girlie yelled at her older counterpart who took a step back and - and suddenly smiled, a full, broad smile.

She then shook her head. 'Sorry.'

'Very well. Let's resume, shall we?' the Muddy girlie lifted her chin and marched royally to her own chair, the baby Potter's eyes huge with admiration and shock.

'I had that coming.' the woman retorted dryly, palm stroking the hurting cheek, magicked her chair back its upright position and sat down. 'Let's continue' she said, her voice slightly harsh from screaming and Bellatrix snickered, just a little bit, mostly for good measure.

'Very well.' the woman spoke after few seconds, her voice one again empty of any emotions 'Tomorrow I'm meeting Wesker under the guise of Erika Something. We'll be going to a restaurant in London. He'll most probably be followed.'

'Are you going alone?' Dolly, the sour-faced idiot, dared to look at the woman with concern.

'I need to maintain my cover. Yes.' their eyes met, yet hers were still empty and calm.

'This could be a trap.' Cissy spoke up, her voice full of worry.

'We need to take our chances.' the Mudblood answered levelly 'I'll be cautious. But I can't have anyone following me because they'll probably be looking for anyone following me -and they probably know the city better than any of you, since it's all Muggle and so on.'

'I could come.' the Muddy girlie looked at her older version 'You know I know London well. And -'

'Are you sure, Hermione?' the baby Potter finally spoke out, his voice hushed as if they were having a private conversation and not were in the middle of a serious meeting. 'I mean, it's dangerous. I could - come with you?' the statement finished with a question mark.

'No one will suspect a teenager.' the Muddy girlie ignored him and was still looking at Mudblood One 'I could have a coffee -or something -there...'

'It's a fancy restaurant.' Mudblood One answered softly 'That could work, though. Only if we met in a cafe... If you arrived earlier and had a book -or homework...'

'Should anything happen' Snape added 'do not act upon it. Contact us first.'

'Yeah.' the Muddy girlie nodded vigorously 'I know.'

'The, uh, rescue party...' the woman scrunched her eyebrows 'Dolohov, Snape and Narcissa, OK?'

'Of course.' her sister smiled at the Mudblood.

'Why not me?!' Bellatrix demanded, she was being ignored and mocked and gravely affronted by their disregard. She was the best, she was always the best and the strongest -

'Because I can't trust your temper.' the Mudblood retorted composedly.

'WHAT?!'

'Precisely that's why.' the woman pointed a lazy hand in her direction 'You scream all the bloody time.'

Insomnia. How she hated it.

Sometimes the darkness resembled a real thing, a presence, ominous and menacing, advancing closer and closer, and forcing her to leave the bed and pace around the room, restlessness and fear filling her to the brim - until it left her pressed against a wall, eyes shut and hands covering her face. It was like Azkaban all over again, the sensation of being surrounded and suffocated, drowning in icy depths, ears full of screams.

These voices that grew louder when darkness transformed into something else, were unearthly. They were rapid, urgent, female choirs repeating shattered phrases faster and faster with every second -until they dissolved into a single howl. They sung in her ears, even though they were born inside her head, she heard them outside, like one hears another person talking.

Sweaty, she spun from her bed and began her pacing, breath speeding rapidly as the over-familiar darkness grew thicker and colder. The voices were now talking about mockery and teeth; things they were saying made absolutely no sense (how on Earth can the word "teeth" sound scary, she pondered, her attention torn between giving in to listening and comprehending). She was now close to surrendering to panic, almost about to give in and press her back against the wall, crouch and beg the darkness to leave (it was the price of Azkaban every single one of them was forced to pay, it wasn't about madness or the lack of sanity, it was the aftermath of spending years in the constant presence of Dementors, yes, she knew that all too well, rationalizing it in broad daylight, well aware that this was nothing more than just a product of her head, a side effect and not a real sickness, yes) -when something cut through the darkness. She blinked and turned, instantly freezing on the spot when the door to the bedroom opened with a soft creak.

'Bellatrix?' a soft voice. Female, slightly hoarse with sleep 'What are you doing?'

The Mudblood walked into her bedroom, a dark shape in the darkness.

'None of your business.' she snapped, embarrassed and grateful - and absolutely humiliated with the latter feeling.

'You seem' the Mudblood paid no heed to that statement 'to have some trouble... sleeping?'

'If you'd spent fourteen years with Dementors as the only company you wouldn't sleep like a baby either.'

'Well I don't too. That's why I heard you.' the reply came softly as the woman approached her and reached out. Bellatrix watched her hand getting closer and closer, ready to recoil any time, but her treacherous body betrayed her and the moment the palm reached her shoulder, it welcomed the touch eagerly. Bellatrix let out a dejected breath, frozen on the spot and eying the offensive hand with mixed feelings. They were quite close now, the woman, even without heels, slightly taller than her, dark eyes that were almost invisible in the darkness that had swallowed them locked with hers (she felt it, felt the gaze and shivered a little bit, probably due to apprehension), became motionless, like a statue.

'What frightens you so much, Mudblood?' the question was meant to wound and degrade, yet came out as a nervous whisper and she scolded herself for it immediately.

'The past -or the future.' she replied swiftly, her voice so soft it almost felt like a caress. Bellatrix wanted to recoil from it, break the connection and attack the woman, yet she found herself hypnotized by something she could neither name or understand.

She wanted to answer the statement dismissively, disregard the woman and mock her, but never found the right words to use. Instead, she swallowed feeling exposed, almost vulnerable. The woman's body, scarcely dressed, was immensely warm, the warmth radiating and encompassing Bellatrix. It was oddly compelling and her own body betrayed her once more, taking a step closer to the woman. Now they were very close, the arm that rested on her shoulder was bent and chaotic visions ran through Bellatrix's mind, filling her with images of Dolly and the Mudblood. They were disturbing. They were sickly disturbing, visions of their dalliance, of their bodies and the sounds that fell from their lips. And she felt a heatwave ran along her body. She swallowed and suddenly there was silence that was almost ringing -and she recognized it only moments later: the voices were gone.

'It's alright.' the woman said in a broken, hoarse whisper that was almost alarming in its strangeness. 'It's alright.' she repeated, her voice bordering between intense and lost, something that sounded as unrealistic as real, a bloody paradox.

Bellatrix took one more step forward, her body moving against her volition and suddenly found herself inches from the woman -and she felt her breath on her face and closed her eyes, trying to regain her senses but to no avail. She was paralyzed now, lost and unable to stop whatever was going on.

'It's not alright.' she choked out, not really sure what she was referring to anymore.

'It has to be.' the woman breathed her response and Bellatrix's mind was spinning now, disturbing heat spreading through her body like a wildfire.

Then the woman inhaled deeply and noticeably steeled herself for something 'We should go to sleep, you know?' she said, her voice recomposed and that helped because the spell was broken and Bellatrix was able to sidestep her, nodding vigorously, relieved and disappointed at the same time.

'Goodnight' she chirped brightly 'Muddy.'

'Goodnight Bellatrix. If you need anything -'

'I won't!'

The bloody infuriating Mudblood emerged in the morning dressed in a hideous summer dress, all pastels and shit, her hair blond and her face a stranger's. A bloody tall blond with huge bosom and blue eyes, all classic beauty so obvious that average, took the Mudblood's seat and locked those unfamiliar doll-like eyes with her own -and Bellatrix recoiled, disgusted with seeing a familiar look in unfamiliar eyes (it was like consorting with a total stranger).

'I see I get the proper reaction.' the smile on those silly pink lips was Mudblood's yet the curves were so alien.

Bellatrix had always disliked the Polyjuice Potion, now however, she detested it with all her heart.

The breakfast was a quite affair, the young Muddy girlie was staring avidly at her Polyjuiced counterpart and the baby Potter was red on the face.

The both Mudbloods got ready, Mudblood One drank more of the potion, and they disapparated away.

Little did they know she had decided to follow them.

After the Mudblood had left, Bellatrix found her sleep. It would be refreshing, had she not dreamed of the Mudblood. Of the Mudblood shagging like a cat in heat. Only that she wasn't shagging the idiot Dolly but someone else.

A shadow person. Every time Bellatrix tried to guess their identity, the shadow person evaded her. It could be anyone and that bothered her greatly. The Mudblood was moaning and rubbing her body against this... thing and Bellatrix wanted nothing more than to know who they were. Yet the images made no sense at all.

So she woke up furious and decided it was the Mudblood's fault. After all, it had been her who violated her privacy and acted all strange, probably inducing, no, not probably but without any doubt, the warped dream.

Bellatrix would simply ensure the Mudblood would not shag that Wesker creature and defile magic. Mud or not, magic was still far better than Muggle. She did not even bother to change into Muggle clothes. Cissy was looking at her strangely, when she informed her regally she was going out.

'I hope you're not planning on following her, are you?'

'Don't be ridiculous, Cissy.' she snarled, stuck her chin out and marched out of the house, disapparating on the spot.

She sauntered into the cafe, casting a quick glance at her surroundings. Upon seeing her the little Muddy, who seating close to the entrance, a boring jumper all blending in with the walls (who would wear those bloody pink-pastelish things?), nearly leaped out of her chair, sending a book that was on her lap, to the floor. Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow gleefully and was about to smirk, when something caught her attention.

The now-blonde Mudblood was seated not so far away. There was the git Wesker beside her and two other Muggles in ridiculous suits.

Bellatrix literally saw red. Wesker's arm was hung around the Mudblood's shoulders and his other hand... was stroking lazily her thigh. Something snapped in her and she ignored the Muddy girlie's desperate attempts at getting her attention and stormed to the table.

They all looked at her with bedazzlement, Wesker sending a challenging grin and the two men looking immediately alarmed. The Mudblood merely cocked an eyebrow, mastering the composure in her eyes with impressive skill.

'Bella.' she said lazily. For anyone who was not aware, it sounded merely as an assessment but Bellatrix knew that it was both a question and an angry remark. 'What are you doing here?' the Mudblood addressed her as though addressing a friend, yet she knew the woman was angry and worried.

Tension grew rapidly. Wesker glared at her and then his eyes traveled to the two men.

Fuck.

She had blown the cover.

They were ready to attack - and so she reached into her cleavage, ready to produce the wand and charge. But the Mudblood stood up, suddenly.

'Who's that?' one of the men demanded harshly, a self-satisfied smile of someone who had their suspicions confirmed playing on his lips.

'I told you' the Mudblood ignored him and stared at Bellatrix with something that resembled anger and yet asked her to play along the lines 'I don't do exclusiveness.'

She was instantly at loss. She opened her mouth and no sound came.

'Oh.' Wesker let out a deep breath and she glanced at him only to see a smirk that masked relief. 'So that's that Bella?'

That Bella?

'Who is this?' the man who had asked the same question previously, demanded once again, his eyes traveling from Bellatrix to the Mudblood.

'I'm sorry' the Mudblood smiled lazily at the men 'This is Bellatrix. And that's Albert - I've told you about him, haven't I?' her eyes narrowed as she looked at Bellatrix 'And that's Steve and Rupert.'

'You're friends?' the man, Rupert probably, inquired, something else coloring his voice.

'No, not really.' the Mudblood shot her a very broad smile (conveying a private message underneath its toothy facade). Frozen on the spot, she saw the Mudblood take three steps towards her.

The woman's eyes (unfamiliar, sea-blue eyes) locked with her, something very intense burning in them, begging her to just go with it.

And suddenly warm lips were glued to her own, sending a fluttering sensation across her body, her mind spinning, and her knees giving in - but she was grabbed around the waste and pulled in, as a tongue entered her mouth, her body aflame and numb with shock at the same time.

This kiss was as intense as short. The woman pulled away and Bellatrix saw utter confusion on her face.

She cleared her throat, visibly forcing herself to focus.

'That's Bella I've told you about, Albert. My lover.'


	20. Tools of Destruction

Now that was something she would have never ever predicted.

As she sat back dawn and saw Wesker's smirk out of the corner of her eye, she had to restrain herself from punching him in his perfect Il Duce square of a jaw. Instead, she turned to face that god-awful woman and motioned for her to sit down. Bellatrix, however, would not Bellatrix, if she did not stare at her, dark eyes turning into daggers and Avadas flying from the irises.

'Sit down, won't you, sweetheart?' the last word was a jibe. She knew better, of course, than to taunt, but some things were too tempting to resist. She saw the Death Eater flinch and red blotches appeared on her face in an alarmingly abrupt manner. It was pretty obvious that the woman was about to explode in utter fury and tackle them all. 'Bella. Sit down.' It was an order now, and a harsh one at that, something a little too out of character for lovers they were pretending to be, so she added, trying to sound as weary as someone who was forced to go through with the same tantrum would sound 'I told you not to be jealous, didn't I? You said it was ok. Remember?'

Finally that awful woman responded. Eyes still daggers, aiming at her with such fury a lesser soul would pale, she sat beside Hermione, as stiff and rigid as an insulted queen would.

'I don't approve, I'll have you know that.' the words rolled imperiously from those ruby lips she had just kissed moments ago and Hermione felt a faint shiver, a shadow of the one she had felt before, run down her spine. Highly disturbed. Highly... disturbing. She shook her head, ever so slightly and turned to smile as Wesker's cronies from the corporation.

'Sorry for the fuss.' she shot one of them (she kept mixing up their names, so in her head she called them Minion One and Minion Two). 'We have our... issues, if you know what I mean.'

'Albert, you're a lucky bastard.' Minion One stared at Wesker with obvious envy and then, ever the slimy git he had proven to be earlier on, turned to her, his eyes sticky with unsuppressed desire 'Do you like... sharing, Erika?'

'My lover Bella does not.' she responded calmly, concentrating very hard on not showing the fury that was building within her 'I do not believe in monogamy, but I don't force my opinions on others.'

'So sweet.' whatever he had meant, it had to be something ghastly and crude. She felt Bellatrix move a little beside her and without even turning to look at the woman, she moved her hand and, gently as if not to startle a wild animal, placed her palm on the woman's thigh. This woman is mine. The claim was evident and so that had been her intention.

She expected a reaction. Something harsh, probably even violent. Yet moments later a palm rested upon hers and so she turned, surprised beyond anything else, only to see Bellatrix's hand covering her own. She turned to face the Death Eater and smirked immediately: the woman had a very smug expression on her face, a facade that would trick anyone who did not know better. Beneath all that stand-offish air Hermione could see pure and undiluted shock.

It forced a memory upon her. When she had kissed Bellatrix, just to shut her up and save the situation, she felt something that she should have never felt. Electricity. Heatwave. Like touching a bare a nerve or diving into a bath full of hot water. When she pulled away, she could not conceal her surprise, what surprised her even more, were Bellatrix's eyes, round as saucers and full of... what was it? Warmth? Mixed with confusion? Terror bleeding on her face? Or maybe the mixture of those three.

And now she was seeing the very same thing once again, this time, however, masked more professionally.

How odd...

'Erika?' Wesker's voice snapped her out of her musings. She turned wildly and stared at the man, whose smug grim was prominent, self-confidence oozing from every pore of his body. It was this kind of men who would finally inherit Earth. The cold ones, the smug ones, the ones that have sold their souls for power. Men, who were not foolish like the Dark Git, never underestimating their enemies but calculating. Each step had been thought over many times, each step had been planned ages before.

They would inherit this Earth and unleash terror no man has ever thought of.

'Yes?' she smiled and batted her eyelashes at him. Playing along sickened her. She felt her own palm clench, nails digging into Bellatrix's flesh. But the hand that was covering her own never moved away. Quite the contrary, actually. The Death Eater's fingers dug into her hand, steadying her, forcing her to remain calm.

'I was saying, babe, that I need to get a move on.'

'Oh. Albert.' she swallowed, forcing herself to look sorry and disappointed 'But I thought the two of us had plans.'

She heard their snickers, Minion One and Minion Two were positively beaming, eyefucking her and Bellatrix. Little blonde bitch was yowling for her master, how obvious, how cheap.

'Sorry' he was cool, detached, treating her like it was expected of him. Leave the bitch wanting. Down-treat, use, abuse, leave. Nothing more, never more. 'Gotta things to do, babe. I'll call you later.'

'Please do.' it was weak the moment it left her lips, her anger seething like a wave of acid, ready to send her over the edge. 'I miss you, Albert.'

Bellatrix nails were talons now, drawing blood. She turned once again to look at the woman, who was fuming, probably infuriated with her display of sickening want. She shot her a small smile, a very private one at that, leaving space for interpretation for the others and telling Bellatrix that it was all OK, that it was part of the plan. The woman merely nodded, eyes still glued to her and hand still squeezing.

'Come one then, sweetheart.' she told Bellatrix 'If Albert doesn't want us, we'll have fun on our own.'

'You're mine.' the woman growled, all of the sudden 'You shouldn't associate yourself with the likes of him.'

Leaving the cafe was quite an achievement. She was still astounded by Bellatrix's display of... whatever it was. Hand in hand they walked outside, not really like casual fuck friends, more like lovers, a couple in love and only when they walked a block away, Bellatrix pulled away, eyes daggers once again. And in that Hermione found a comfort of sorts.

'What was that?' Bellatrix demanded harshly, bits of saliva flying from her lips, accentuating her anger.

'I should ask you the same!' she snarled back 'Why the hell did you come?' The wrath she felt was by far more natural than anything else. In the end, she was not to blame. She ended up kissing a woman she detested. Her torturer. A spoiled brat who believed in nonsensical ideology and would be willing to destroy the world only to achieve her fantasy.

'I had every right to!' Bellatrix threw back, eyes jet black and face once again red.

Funny, you go from beautiful to hideous and pathetic in seconds.

Beautiful? Why the hell do I think like that of a bloody deranged Death Eater? I need to get laid. Again.

'You most certainly did not!' she growled, hands balling into fists 'You lunatic!' she felt her voice rise into a full-blown roar 'You disregard any order -'

'I WON'T BE TAKING ORDERS FROM A MUDBLOOD!' Bellatrix shrieked and, once again, Hermione lost it.

Like that time in her third year, when she smacked Draco Malfoy almost involuntarily, she saw her fist fly up, her body twisting gracefully, and connect with the woman's chin. As though in slow motion, she saw Bellatrix fall back, take few steps backwards and pull her wand out of her corset, ready to hex. But while the woman was an excellent duelist, Hermione had great experience with non-magical combat, so she kicked the woman's wand-arm, sending the thing airborne. Bellatrix looked stunned for a split second and then threw herself at Hermione, her hands cupping her face, nails digging into the skin and drawing blood.

They overbalanced immediately and smashed into the pavement, Bellatrix straddling Hermione, her eyes huge and insane.

'I- will kill you -bitch!' Bellatrix's voice was almost guttural, sheer fury making her shake.

And then there was a loud bang and the two of them found themselves airborne. Bellatrix was thrown aside, her back crashing against a brick wall and Hermione was brutally pushed. Blinking, she turned her head and stared in the direction of the attack.

She saw herself, few feet away, wand lifted and eyes alight with anger.

'Could you not try to kill each other every single time you are left alone?' the young Hermione exclaimed exasperatedly and she giggled, startling herself. The girl was right, of course. She pushed herself up and sat on the pavement, her head pulsating with pain. She was bleeding, she realized dimly when something warm trailed its way down her cheek. After all Bellatrix had scratched her and when one's nails resemble claws or talons rather than anything else, it was no surprise really. She brushed the blood off and looked at the slumped figure that sprawled on the pavement not too far away. Bellatrix was unconscious. She forced herself to stand up, brushed the blood off once again and walked to the woman. She crouched beside her and tentatively checked the pulse, feeling the eyes of her counterpart on herself.

'She's fine.' she said to no one in particular and motioned for the other Hermione to come closer. 'We should head home.'

'Fine.' the girl was still angry. She saw her walk closer, head high and eyes defiant, and smiled. No matter how odd it had felt, there was something quite... pleasant... about this Hermione. She came to like her company.

If only I were able to see her as a different person. Not myself. Someone else. A little sister.

Hermione must have been thinking along the same lines. She touched her forearm, forcing her to look up.

'I think we need to establish our... relationship.' her younger self mumbled, oddly blushing at the last word. 'I mean... If we're to work together... I'd rather not go insane, you know?' there was a feeble chuckle in her voice, the absurdity of the situation probably taking over.

'I agree.' she smirked, even though her mind was still spinning, the entire situation, after all, was more than unusual. Not even in her darkest dreams she would have concocted such a scenario. 'Let's, uh -let's stick with... Uh... Would you mind becoming my younger sister? I'd rather not think of you as myself.'

'My train of thoughts.' the girl nodded solemnly, her eyes still huge and her visage still pooling with severe embarrassment 'I mean... It's disturbing to think you're me... even though you are.'

'So.' she smiled at her younger self, nope, at her younger sister 'How should I call you? We can't be Hermione One and Hermione Two. Or Hermione Senior and Hermione Junior, can we?'

'You change your name. This is my timeline.' whether the girl was joking or not it was uncertain.

And there was, still, an unconscious Bellatrix on the ground, between them, like the naked sword in the tale of Tristan and Iseult. Everything felt surreal, even the scenario, a back alley and brick walls, a woman clad in black on the ground and two versions of the same person kneeling beside her, it was like a scene from a wicked dream. She smiled at her younger self, the girl she had to claim as her sister if their sanity was to remain, and licked her lips, thinking hard, trying to name the girl - or herself. And suddenly she spoke out, more to herself than anyone else 'What's in a name?'

Hermione snickered, instantly amused 'That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'

Shakespeare to seal the deal.

'Call me sister, simply.' she smiled 'Let's not make any more fuss than necessary. And the rest of the world can call you Hermione. I'll stick with Granger.'

'Fine.' Hermione nodded 'Now however... shall we go, sister?'

'Let us go then, you and I.'

'I'm glad.' her sister grabbed her hand and looked her in the eye 'I'm glad that even in the future I will not lose the ability to quote Elliot and sound stuck-up like any other member of aspiring middle class.'

'Shush you. Didn't you know that Grandma was nobility?' they grabbed Bellatrix and she focused on their destination.

'Yes, but then she married Grandpa' her sister grimaced 'and the title moved on Great Uncle Thomas.'

'Such a shame.'

'Not really.'

With that they were gone.

It was quite a fuss when they arrived, an unconscious Bellatrix in tow. She took in on herself to explain everything, including the little disagreement that led to knocking Bellatrix out. While Scabior looked aroused and Narcissa distasted, Dolohov had the courtesy to laugh. It was a full, cheerful laughter and suddenly she realized that bedding him was a bad idea; he was a friend. And sleeping with friends was one of the things she considered risque.

One gets too attached. And she had absolutely no intention in getting emotionally attached. Once again.

That reminded her of Harry. He was idly reading a book, sitting on the couch, his expression quite bemused upon hearing her tale. It was painful to watch him. It was painful to stick around him. A constant reminder of what she was sacrificing.

Snape revived Bellatrix. The woman sprung to her feet, ready to attack, but she found herself uncaring. She merely sat beside Harry and looked at the woman, who turned to face her, livid and offended. But then something curious happened. She watched Bellatrix look at her, cock her head and her eyebrows knit together. The woman stood frozen on the ground, staring at her with bewilderment and then she simply left.

'What was that all about?' Harry inquired and she looked at him and felt a powerful pang in her heart.

'I don't know.' the three words left her mouth in a pained whisper. She cleared her throat, knowing that any lack of self control on her side could lead to something dreadful. He gazed at her, surprise coloring his eyes.

'Are you alright?' the concern in his voice made her shiver. Not trusting her voice, she merely nodded and stood up, quite briskly.

'Smoke break, I reckon.' she said hastily and, ignoring everyone else, stormed outside. She sat on the stone steps, stretching her legs. The day had been long and truly peculiar. She wanted nothing more than just to sleep and sleep without any dreams. Oblivion, how sweet the word had sounded. To let go. To cease to be. She shook her head.

Someone joined her, she turned and saw Dolohov, his gaunt face stern.

'What is it?' he was standing by the door, arms folded across his chest and brows furrowed, concern pooling his brown eyes.

'Just tired.' she shrugged, trying to sound as casual as possible. 'Long day.'

'Yeah.' he nodded lazily and walked to sit beside her. 'Care to share?'

She threw the pack at him, squinting her eyes and staring at the neighborhood. It felt almost Muggle-like to share a cigarette with a friend while sitting on doorstep of her parents' house. Like they did in the movies. Like they did in the books.

'So.' he lit the cigarette and threw the pack back. It landed beside her with a soft thud. 'What is it?' he repeated and she realized he would not let go.

'What is what?' it was not really fair to answer a question with a question, but some of the subjects were touchy. 'I don't really follow.' she added, trying to sound disinterested. She must have failed, however, as Dolohov exhaled loudly, the breath sounding almost like a heavy sigh.

'With you, Hermione.' he answered softly 'Look' his tone was businesslike now 'I know we're not the best of buddies, but considering the whole business... Well. I'd like to know. Not because I want to get in your pants, mind you.' the last sentence had been spoken out to diffuse the tension that hung in the air around them, palpable like an oncoming storm.

'I am really tired.' the answer was honest, although laden with riddles. She unlearned how to tell truth. Years of combat taught her to shut down, let the barriers surround her so that nothing would interfere with her ability to think clearly. 'It's not my timeline. And it's pretty much, you know?' she cast a searching eye at him and saw his dark eyes staring back, their expression surprisingly open, absolutely non-judgmental.

'I can only guess' the response was hoarse but not unfriendly 'What about him?'

The question caught her off guard. It had been easy, telling Draco about it, days ago. Now, however, Harry had returned into the picture. He was no more a memory, something she could push away and numb down. It was raw and real, like scratching at a barely healed wound, opening the chasms again, drawing blood and pulling out pieces of meat. She cleared her throat, forcing her focus on the cigarette and the taste of smoke in her mouth.

There was no point in lying. The truth, no matter how painful, was insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

'I've loved him.' she said, her gaze glued to her shoes. She had not changed, she was still wearing those hideous pumps.

'You still love him.' he whispered 'But it's not him. He's just a boy. Yet.'

She flinched, her body exploding in pain. He had spoken the truth. 'Yes.' she choked out, hating immediately the weakness that colored her voice. There was no point in thinking of the past. It had already come to pass and would never return. Those days were over. These people were not the people she had loved. Harry... Harry was - Never mind what Harry was. It was all insignificant.

'It hurts.' Dolohov spoke softly and she turned to face him, suddenly angry. Yet he remained calm, his eyes still lingering on her. 'I know how that feels. I too have loved. And lost.'

It shut her up. She swallowed, feeling as if her throat had turned to Sahara Desert in a moment's time. 'Tell me?'

'There's no point in dwelling in the past. She was destroyed.'

'Destroyed?'

'Dementor's Kiss. For somebody else's crime.' he stood up, brushed his robes and discarded the cigarette.

She thought it was anger that caused this action but then Bellatrix appeared in the doorway, onyx eyes ablaze with anger.

'I'd thought that a pure blood, Death Eater no less, would know better than to shag a filthy Mudblood, Dolly.' the woman paid no heed to Hermione, her fury directed towards the man, who took a step back, tilting his head in an almost evaluating manner. There was a huge difference between the two of them, she realized. While Bellatrix fumed with anger, her entire posture screaming aggression, Dolohov kept his back straight and face impassive. A less observant person would have mistaken his posture for submissiveness or fear, yet she was pretty certain he was a man who kept his cool despite the circumstances.

'What concern of yours would that be, my actions, Bellatrix?' he asked, his voice even and chillingly calm. There was no air of fear about him but cold contempt and Hermione, despite knowing better, felt a bitter rush of pride with his behavior. Bellatrix was childish. She never found that trait endearing.

'This is -you idiot -desecration! Our blood is pure, Dolly, or have you forgotten?' Bellatrix was now almost shaking with anger, her pretty face once again blossoming with hideous red blotches.

'What I do is still none of your concern, Bellatrix.' he never backed down, his eyes now openly disdainful. 'I suggest you drop the subject, lest you want me to consider you jealous.'

'JEALOUS?!' all Bellatrix could do, and probably would ever do, was scream. It was predictable. And, quite frankly, Hermione found it as disappointing as boring. One can get used to almost anything, the Death Eater flying off handle for no reason at all was nothing new.

'Bellatrix.' she found herself speaking, her voice oddly blank in her own ears 'Let it go. For once. Just let it go.'

The woman disregarded her, though, her eyes still round and insane and glued to Dolohov. 'I should curse you into oblivion, Dolly.' she hissed 'Just for the - your insolence is disgusting! You're shagging flith, Dolly! How can you -?!'

Hermione sighed, exasperation driving her almost crazy. She stood up and scratched her eyebrow, her face distorted in a grimace that was probably hideous enough to match Bellatrix's. 'Stop it, Bellatrix.' she spat, her voice bordering on cracking 'Just stop it. Get over it or get away.'

That had caught Bellatrix's attention. The woman turned to her, wand out. Before anyone had any chance of reacting, she pointed the wand at Hermione and shrieked 'CRUCIO!'

The curse hit her right across the chest and send her flying backwards. Waves of paint swept over her, darkness pushing from everywhere. It felt like thousand blades piercing her skin, the sensation sickening to the point one wanted nothing more than just to throw up their intestines. What Bellatrix did not know, however, was that she had already tortured Hermione.

The scars that marred her chest and her stomach, faint, pale kisses of the Unforgivable Curse, were a memoir. And a weapon.

Hermione bit her lower lip, forcing herself not to scream. Instead, she focused on fighting the curse, forcing her eyelids up she stared defiantly at the sky as her body convulsed madly.

\- Up, you little bitch. Get up.

She hated the little voice in the back of her head yet she complied and, shaking like a leaf and bile rising within her throat, she pushed herself on all fours, lifting her head to stare at her attacker.

For nanoseconds she could see Bellatrix's bewildered face and then Dolohov was on the woman, brutally shoving her away, breaking her focus and therefore ending her spell.

'You bitch!' he snarled, lifting his own wand and bringing it to the woman's temple 'Just say the word and I'll send her six feet under.'

'Don't.' she panted, dizzily getting to her feet 'She's not worth it.'

Of course Bellatrix was insane. She was a hindrance. And a nuisance. Yet she could not bring herself to ending the woman. It was inexorable and unexplainable, but it was nonetheless, a firm belief in giving the woman endless chances. She tried to rationalize it. After all Bellatrix was a skilled fighter. Someone like her was valuable. An asset on should not let go off easily.

She paced around her bedroom. It was late at night and everything was encompassed by darkness. She could not sleep despite her weariness, waves of nausea and anxiety washing over her in a disturbing fashion. It was so tempting. To bring the Beretta, point it at her temple of thrust it in her mouth and pull the trigger, blow her brain and end it. Leave it for others to solve.

Almost entranced with the idea, she turned on the small lamp that stood on a drawer beside her bed and pulled her gun from under the mattress where she had stashed it earlier on. She turned the safety off. The Beretta was loaded. She stared at the gun, how black and shiny it was, a perfect weapon, a true tool of destruction. It felt easy.

Beretta 92FS was an item of great of beauty.

Slowly she lifted the weapon. It felt heavy in her hand. Almost alien, despite the fact that she had lived with it for years now. It was her very first gun. More hers than the wands that have passed through her hands. A wand chooses a wizard, yes, but a wizard chooses a gun. A wand will never turn against their owner when in the owner's hands, yes. But a gun was obedient. A gun was the very symbol of freedom of choice, the exact opposite of a wand that chose in spite of one's will.

And so by gun, a weapon world had forced upon her and a weapon she had chosen as her ultimate, she, Hermione Granger, a witch, would end her life.

The barrel was cold against her lips. She thrust it deeper, until it almost made her retch. It was perfect and she was ready.

Her hand never shook as she closed eyes, fingers pulling on the trigger.


	21. Unbent, Unbroken

Something woke her up. At first she could neither name it not understand. Blinking against oppressive darkness, Narcissa Malfoy sat up in her bed and swung her feet off the mattress and on the floor. Something was wrong.

The house was eerily calm. Almost as if some menacing presence hung around it, enveloping it in its clutches. Trembling slightly, she shook her head trying to comprehend what was wrong. She stood up, unsure whether to act upon her intuition or go back to sleep, she finally decided to head to the kitchen. A glass of water was a sufficient excuse. Were her gut feelings wrong, she would simply take reassurance in the simplest of actions and return to bed.

She marched on without turning the lights on. She walked past her sister's room and then turned right, the stairway appearing on her left. She entered the kitchen. It was empty and quiet, if not for a steady ticking of a large clock that hung above the sink, the silence would be profound. With a flick of her wand, she summoned a glass and turned the tap. The water was icy and the difference of temperatures made her grasp slick, unstable. She gulped the water in a most inelegant manner, thinking idly how her Mother would have reacted had she seen that display of lack of manners.

Something caught her attention. It was a sensation, once again nothing solid. She was a mother, however. A sixth sense was something each and every mother shared. Instead of returning to her bedroom, she marched out of the kitchen, into the hallway and halted before the door that led outside. She tensed, trying to hear something, anything, yet all there was, was silence. She held her breath and, despite what common sense told her, opened the door.

The wards were on. Severus Snape and Antonin Dolohov had added some extra ones, making sure that should anybody trespass, an alarm would be set off, rousing the inhabitants.

Someone was outside, however. She narrowed her eyes, for split seconds overcome with anxiety, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as waves of adrenaline washed over her. Yet the intruder was sitting on the rock stairs with their back towards the doors, a very familiar scent surrounding them and, with a breath of relief, she recognized them immediately.

'Hermione.' she whispered in the dark and saw the stranger, bathed in specks of street light, flinch slightly.

'Narcissa.' the response was hoarse and almost strained. Ignoring the sense of propriety that screeched for her to leave the girl be in her nighttime musings, she made her way, barefoot, towards the girl until she was right beside her. Exhaling deeply, she sat down, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

'Are you alright?' she tried to sound comforting but the girl, that tough, tough woman, flinched as if slapped and she realized that everything was far from alright. There was tension in the girl's posture, stress gripping at her shoulders while weariness pushed them down. The woman was looking away from her, tousled hair obscuring her face. Narcissa watched her like a hawk, reading all the signs while perfectly aware how invasive and unwanted that must have felt.

Yet she had this memory etched in her mind. Of her and Hermione on some rocky cliff overlooking the sea. How sad and tired the woman had looked. She was standing so close to the edge when she got there, as if she was about to jump. Upon seeing Narcissa, Hermione took a step back and shot her a smile that never reached her eyes which remained shut down.

Something was wrong.

'I nearly did something stupid.' the woman spoke in hushed voice, causing her to flinch in response and shake out of her musings. The tone in which the statement had been delivered was oddly blank, as if coming from someone who was emotionally burned out.

'What happened?' she demanded softly, trying to catch the woman's (not the girl, never the girl, not anymore the girl) attention.

'Nothing worth telling.' the reply was as soft as hers had been. 'Just a silly impulse, nothing else.'

The statement, or maybe the hollow tone in which she had spoken, filled her with fear she could neither understand nor name. She reached out, cautiously and slowly, and put her hand on the woman's shoulder. She never reacted, though, unmoving and cold like a marble statue.

'Just a silly impulse?' she repeated, not knowing how should she react. It was difficult to respond when one did not know what the other was speaking about. Her fingers clenched on the woman's shoulder; it was so skinny, merely skin and bones.

'Yes.' the woman nodded, her face still away, hidden by a black mane. 'I think' she added in a slightly stronger voice 'that the whole predicament is starting to wear me off.'

'There's no shame in that.' Narcissa answered, knowing the moment she spoke out loud how lame and stupid it had sounded, yet Hermione never scoffed nor pushed her away.

'I know.' Hermione acknowledged dully and, miraculously, turned to face her. 'I know.' there was a faint smile on her lips, tugging at their corners, something that bore the mark of mirth. 'Nonetheless it's late. Why are you up?'

'I could not sleep.' Narcissa set on half-truth, not wanting to lie or admit she had been woken up by a sense of foreboding. 'Are you sure you don't want to talk about it? Whatever it had been?'

'There's no point.' the woman smiled at her, this time the smile was genuine and slightly bizarre, as the play of light and darkness distorted her features almost unsettingly. 'It won't happen again.'

'Are you sure?' the words slipped her mouth before she had any chance of stopping herself. She had no idea what they were talking about yet a confirmation from the woman seemed to be vital.

'Positive.' she nodded in response, her smile growing even wider. 'Thank you.' Hermione added softly and took a drag. Her cigarette was almost finished. She watched the woman lift it and inspect it and then, with a small sigh, extinguish the remains on the step she was sitting on. 'Well, it seems like I've wasted this one.'

Narcissa almost chuckled at that, were the notion not undignified and most surely unsuitable for a Black. Her mother had always been most wary of her manners. Bellatrix, being the oldest, was the one to marry for fame and glory, and being the most unruly, was to be shoved away. Andromeda was always the freak. And Narcissa, the perfect daughter and the youngest child, was to marry to fortune and namesake and become a pure blood princess Bellatrix had been supposed to become. While Bellatrix ran rampart and Andromeda was shunned away, it was Narcissa who had been honed and pruned until she was ready to face the world and marry Lucius Malfoy, a gentleman all the girls desired.

Probably because you weren't either headstrong like Andy or rebellious like Bella.

'You can always have another.' she observed, reveling in the change of mood. Whatever shadows had been encompassing Hermione earlier on, were now gone, dissipated in the woman's everyday briskness. It was like watching a sudden change of the weather, a lone dark cloud on a perfect day, dreadful the moment it obscured the Sun yet gone before causing any additional grief. A phantom menace, as scary as short-lived.

'Probably I will. And probably by tomorrow my voice will be raspier than Darth Vader's.' the woman shot her a broad grin and upon noticing Narcissa perplexed expression, chuckled in a friendly manner 'A Muggle villain. Classical, really.'

'What did he do?' she asked, genuinely curious. Hermione pulled the pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of her jacket, instead of answering, and fished out one she put in her mouth immediately. When she lit it, she took a deep breath and then exhaled the smoke through nostrils, a sight that reminded her of a sleeping dragon she had once seen, ages ago.

'He wasn't real.' Hermione finally answered, her tone almost cheerful 'It was just a story.'

'What happened to him?' she wasn't really curious, yet she felt a genuine want to keep talking to the girl. Since Lucius died she could not sleep. The bed was too big, no matter how ridiculous it felt during day hours, she longed for the presence of another while she slept.

'Upon his dying day he found his redemption by saving his son and defying his master.'

'So he was a hero?' the short reply make her heart flutter inexplicably.

'A dark hero. If you know what I mean. A villain through and through who yet managed to be saved.' the woman took another drag and this time held her breath, her head high up. Narcissa watched her profile, a straight and delicate nose, a sharp chin, extremely long eyelashes, overly malnourished body, and realized with another jolt that the woman was astoundingly beautiful, nighttime granting her ethereal quality she did not posses in broad light. Quite the contrary: daytime had her wired, ripples of energy washing off her body, focused and driven, Hermione was as real as they came.

'I think I do.' she admitted finally, her voice cracking inexplicably. The entire situation left her in a state of shock. It felt so right and so comforting to sit beside this incredible woman and talk about random subjects, the darkness that was within them pushed aside, even if just for the sake of couple stolen moments.

The woman nodded, letting her know she had heard, but said nothing more and Narcissa found herself dreading the moment they would have to part. Hermione must have, however, had felt something shifted between them, as she suddenly cocked her head and looked at Narcissa questioningly.

'How do you manage to be saved?' Narcissa asked, surprising even herself. The woman moved suddenly, brushing a loose strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

'You allow yourself to change.' she answered slowly 'You agree with the idea of salvation.'

'What do you mean?' for some unknown reason her heart was pounding now as if some huge mystery of the universe was about to unravel before their very eyes.

'No one and nothing, no force on this Earth, can save you against your will.' the woman took another drag of the cigarette.

Narcissa Malfoy shivered.

'Would you mind sharing a bed with me tonight?' she blundered suddenly and almost covered her mouth in sheer embarrassment.

'Gladly.' Hermione smiled instantly and there was something comforting in the swiftness of her reply, as if the request was a most frequent thing she had ever heard.

To wake up in the arms of another was a bliss. There were arms around her, steadying her and grounding to the mattress. There was heat pouring from another's body, encompassing her in an envelope of safety. Narcissa blinked against the sunlight, its patches entering through window and licking the room. She felt groggy.

She was lying on her side, an arm that never belong to her was under her neck and she held the protruding hand in her own, another arm was draped around her waist. She turned on her back and stifled a moan of embarrassment. Her dreams had not lied. She had spent the night with Hermione.

The woman was also lying on her side, her face oddly serene. The focus that was permanently etched upon her features in the waking hours, was now gone, replace by immense softness. After all, Narcissa realized with a small pang in her chest, the woman was very young. Twenty one, maybe from a teenager's perspective could be that big of a deal, was no adulthood by any chance. Twenty one is when one begins to explore the world and try to learn of who they are and what they want. And twenty one should most definitely not be the age when one commands troop and marches into slaughter that would make seasoned tacticians pale and shiver.

Hermione blinked, her eyelids trembling when a loose ray of light danced across her face. Suddenly she jolted upwards and sat up, staring around the room in alarm. Then her eyes found Narcissa's, who found herself drawn to the woman's presence beyond any reasoning, and she relaxed her stance.

'Morning.' the woman smiled, her voice still thick with sleep.

'Morning.' Narcissa Malfoy, the ice queen she had chosen to become years ago, was smiling like a schoolgirl. 'I hope you slept as well as I had.'

'Oh yes.' Hermione nodded and ran a distracted hand through her hair, tousled curls sticking out in all the odd places. 'Better then... since eternity.' She blinked once again, her face unfocused 'Oh dear.' she muttered 'I actually think I've slept in. Fancy a coffee?' with that she looked at Narcissa with the smallest of smirks, probably realizing what others' reactions would be the moment they left the bedroom together.

Especially her sister. Narcissa shivered faintly, remembering the strange obsession Bellatrix had developed with the woman.

'Yes, please.' she smiled back, knowing very well that Bella was prone to rage and ravage over seeing them together. It made absolutely no sense. Bella always despised those of lesser birth and looked down on most of the pure bloods as well, considering them something inferior to Blacks, a notion that never made sense since there were families much older and much more powerful than their.

Of course the House of Black was ancient and noble and everything worthy of upholding. Yet to claim it to be the oldest or the most noble was nonsensical. Had Bella studied heraldry and genealogy like she had, she would have learned that the Continent was teeming with families that originated back to the Roman Era; the French took pride in their Gallic families, Italians loved those who could say in a simple conversation 'When my ancestor, Cassius Numa Iulia, entered Rome with Caesar...', Germans spoke of their Teutonic ancestors and so on. The Blacks, in comparison to Irish and Continental Wizarding Families were not a big deal, to be honest.

Narcissa blinked and decided to think of something else. Mornings always left her with random thoughts in her head, whenever she had just woken up, her mind would spin and speed, flood her with memories or musings. Today, it seemed, her mind had decided to delve into genealogy.

The woman was looking at her oddly and Narcissa shot her a small smile. 'Sorry. You were saying?'

'That your sister won't probably like seeing us together.'

'No. She won't.' she shook her head.

'Can I ask you something?' the woman was sitting on the bed, legs down and hands firmly placed on her lap, the very sight of elegance despite her morning attire.

'Please do.' no matter what time it was, Narcissa was never the one to let go off her manners. Birth is one thing. But since you can be a barbarian even with noble heritage, it was how you molded yourself mattered in the end. When aristocracy starts to act like peasants, the downfall of the world so cherished was imminent. It was what Lucius' mother always said, a woman who despised crudeness with all her might. Being pure blood would never suffice. One had to strive even further. But then, she was an offspring of an ancient French family that barely made it out alive out of Paris when the Revolution's claws began tearing at both Muggle and Magical nobility.

'Why... why does your sister -? I wouldn't say despise me, because this is obvious... Why does she act... as if she was jealous?'

'I don't know.' she shook her head 'I can't even say it's typical Bella's behavior. Something is going on with her, Hermione.'

The woman nodded and stood up, once again pushing her hair back. There was a faint smile on her lips, a little lazy and a little weary. 'How do you like my new hair?' she asked, indicating towards those jet black tresses, so dark they drank in the light.

'Most unusual.' Narcissa smiled back 'How did you achieve that?'

'Muggles have their ways. It's hair dye.' the woman walked towards the door 'I can't get used to that either. But I didn't have the time to get the color off.' she twisted the doorknob and shot Narcissa another small smile 'Coffee?'

She nodded and walked towards the woman. Shoulder to shoulder they marched to the kitchen, ready to face Bellatrix's ire.

Her sister was furious, of course. She was sitting on the kitchen table and examining her nails with an expression of utmost boredom on her face. Upon seeing their entrance, her entire posture tensed, the all-familiar fury pooling in her eyes.

'Morning Bellatrix.' Hermione spoke in bored voice, marching towards the oven.

'Cissy!' Bella rasped at her, eyes round 'How could you -? Did you sleep with her?!'

'It's not quite what you think, Bella.' Narcissa responded smoothly, avoiding her big sister's gaze 'Miss Granger had just shared my bed. At my request.'

'But Cissy -why?'

'I could not sleep. And I don't think I need any justification of my actions, Bella.' she kept her tone cool and unconcerned, knowing it was the only way to shut Bella out. It pained her, even if just a little bit, to close off on her sister, yet Bella had grown over these days even more unstable than before, her actions unexplainable and their spectrum too wide to be predicted.

'You could've asked me.' there was a trace of hurt in her sister's voice, an emotion of Bellatrix she was not familiar with.

'You would've shunned me away -or leered. Like you always do nowadays.' she knew, of course, how coarse and hurtful her response had sounded, but she needed it, she was hurting and Bellatrix never made it easier for her. The big sister she once knew, the strong and iron-willed Bella was gone, replaced by a moody monster who destroyed everything in her wake. There was no explanation for her behavior. Bellatrix had gone over the edge she had been teetering on for years and now all that was left, was insanity. Something had triggered and snapped within Bella, it was not Azkaban nor her continuous service to the man who had been the first to damage her, it was something entirely else, something Narcissa could not even comprehend.

And no matter how she wanted her sister back, she began considering a coup de grâce. One puts down rabid animals to spare them their misery, wasn't it so?

'Cissy! I need you to stay strong! You have to be strong!' Bella whispered urgently, her eyes huge and full of some unknown emotion, whether was it sheer urgency to state her cause or pain, it remained unclear. Narcissa felt a heaviness of sorts set on her shoulders and she ignored her sister only to face a steaming cup of coffee from Hermione, the woman's brows knitted tightly as if she was in deep thought.

'Do you want a cup of coffee as well, Bellatrix?' the woman kept her voice civil, apparently striving to keep some semblances of social grace between them and Narcissa could not help but admire her prowess.

'No.' Bella would not be Bella if her response was any different than cold, uncaring snap.

'All right.' the woman acknowledge and took a sip from her own cup 'If you'll excuse me' her eyes traveled to Narcissa, a faint trace of smile setting in them 'I think I need my morning cigarette.'

And with that she was left alone with her sister, the silence between the uncomfortable.

'Do you like that Mudblood?' Bellatrix's question was almost quaint in its soft nature. She was still perched atop the table, legs swinging lazily. Narcissa sat herself on a chair and pondered her response.

'I do, Bella.' she looked at her sister uncertainly, wary of any outburst 'I admire her greatly. She's the bravest and strongest person I've ever met.'

'Stronger than me?' the question was petulant and childish and so disappointing that Narcissa had to swallow her bile first.

'You've... changed, Bella.' she answered softly, trying to sound stand-offish and failing miserably 'I hardly recognize you anymore.'

'Why?! Did she -how did she?' whatever Bellatrix was trying to ask was lost in anger that made her voice tremble.

'It has nothing to do with her.' she retorted, her own anger growing rapidly 'Why are you so obsessed with her anyway? It makes little sense, Bella. If you hate her like you claim you do, why don't you just set on ignoring her? Yet you keep following her. All your conversations revolve around her. You attack her and you talk to her. What's -? Why, Bella -why?'

'I can't wrap my head around her, all right?' the reply was short and full of anger. Bellatrix leaped from the table and waved a dismissing hand 'You're imaging things, Cissy. Probably because you're like Dolly. All over her.' with that, her sister left the kitchen, her heel clicking distinctively.

'Wait!' she yelled, an astounding realization washing over her like a bucket of cold water, almost grounding in the sensation 'Are you -attracted to her?'

'NONSENSE!' Bellatrix's shriek was vile. Then there was a bang and then another - and then silence set on the house once again, until a very grumpy Dolohov entered the kitchen, sporting a decent black eye.

'Your sister, Narcissa, has gone completely bonkers.' he growled as he threw himself on the chair 'Hermione won't hurt her, but something must be done.'

'I know.' she admitted bitterly, brokenness filling every inch of her be.

Hermione returned with an oddly excited Severus Snape in tow.

'We've made contact.' she spoke hurriedly 'Bill and Fleur Weasley will be joining us tonight. And Wesker's called. I'm having another date with him in three hours' time. And Bellatrix has to join me. He's requested her presence.'

'Oh dear.' Narcissa clutched her heart 'These are some news.'

'Indeed.' Snape admitted briskly and his lips twitched in a parody of a smirk 'Now, who is up to the challenge of informing Bella?'

'I think I'll do it.' Hermione sighed heavily and scratched her cheek, nails leaving surprisingly deep trails 'After all, I'm the one who's in a fake relationship with her.'

'Good luck.' Narcissa would have never supposed Dolohov was able of any genuinely warm gestures, yet there he was, sitting in his chair, feet prompted on the table, a merry smirk playing on his lips, the very epitome of lazy friendliness. He was the exact opposite of Lucius and there was some sincere cheerfulness about him, something he never exhibited while in the presence of that Man. Probably, she pondered darkly, they all were concealing things about themselves when in His presence. He was like a vacuum, sucking in all the life and joy that came in His vicinity. All He had to offer was gloomy darkness, a soul-wrenching sensation of falling into a gaping pit with no lifeline nor any means of belay. There was no glory in service, she realized, their need were never satisfied, for all He cared about was his lunacy of a mission, a Man driven by the fear of death was no leader, merely a ghost of one, a broken specter of misguided ideals, a litmus paper indicating the extent of the fall of the Families. They were declining. If a weakling such as Him had become their leader and they accepted him and greeted as their savior, they had fallen even further than anyone would have ever considered.

Abraxas Malfoy's wife, that iron-bred French noblewoman whom Narcissa had met few times in her life, a delicate, almost porcelain-like old lady, whose blue eyes were cold as ice, would have spat upon Him. Whatever weakness had seemed to have inhabited the woman's body was nothing more than a mask, beneath the fragile demeanor there was pure steel, a soul unbent and unbroken. And upon realizing it all, Narcissa felt a pang of regret that she never had the chance to learn more of her - and from her. Had she paid more heed, things would have probably turned out differently. She would have recognized that lord Voldemort was nothing more but a shell - with nothing but fear underneath.

It was too late. Life was too short and too brutal to allow one to mend their mistakes. What had been lost, would never return. Linearity of human life was something Narcissa found more terrifying than anything else in the world.

She watched Hermione depart and turned to look at Snape. The man was evidently tired. There was an amount of certain rigidness in his posture as he sunk onto a vacant chair.

'Would you like some coffee?' she offered gently, trying to convey her support. He merely nodded, eyes suddenly finding hers.

'She rubs off on you, Narcissa.' he spoke in his trademark soft voice 'Yet I do not find it as disturbing as I would have thought it would. Say, a month earlier had you offered me a Muggle beverage, I would have disbelieved my own hearing.'

'Life changes us all.' it was a truism and cheap one at that, but she never cared anymore 'You can't tell what's going to happen tomorrow.'

'No. You can't.' he acknowledged dully 'I believe the proper thing to say would be carpe diem.'

'Carpey dyam?' Dolohov cut in, eyebrow shooting up in surprise 'What is that?'

'As I have said before, life tends to surprise us all.' Snape grimaced slightly, regarding the man with obvious distaste 'One would come to believe that being pure blood meant being educated beyond mundane level. How disappointing, Antonin. It means seize the day in Latin, for you information. A useful if not overused past the point of pathetic and ridiculous phrase, mind you.'

'Overused?' the man inquired, ignoring the jibe with a small smile, friendly if not a little predatory.

'People tend to think it means squeeze the day. Let yourself loose and do all the things one ought not to do. Abused by teenagers who adore their drama and their occasional outbursts of pure idiocy.'

'Say, you are drunk and on a broom?' Dolohov's smile was now prominent, crinkling his eyes with its width.

'I presume you've been there?'

'If only once. Lucky for me, it only resulted in breaking few bones and some decent lashing performed by my dearest father. Oddly enough, he never took it upon himself to punish himself for the same.'

'Gentlemen' she thought it necessary to cut in and handed Severus his cup of coffee 'I've watched her do it' she added in explanation 'I hope you find it fine.'

'Most certainly' he took a small sip and nodded 'Maybe the next time you'll add less water and it will be just perfect.'

A very disgruntled Bella had to be almost coerced into going out with Hermione. Narcissa spend the remaining time assisting the woman change into her blonde version, every now and then fixing the dress they picked. It was a short, black thing, with a cut that run from the knee to her hip, provocative but not totally obscene. As Hermione had explained, they were to meet Wesker in some strange club in London. Hermione had called it an S&M club, whatever that meant it sounded pretty gross. The woman put on black heels made of shiny leather, probably taken off a crocodile. She looked promiscuous, when transformed into a tall and curvy body of that blonde woman, her breasts almost spilling from her cleavage. Narcissa had to swallow harshly, distaste was leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She much preferred the original version of the woman, black hair or not, to this standard and almost vulgar beauty that stood before her, unfamiliar blue eyes observing casually every move Narcissa made.

'Good luck.' she sighed finally.


	22. Granger's Danger

It was a lovely stroll, really, considering the fact that the heels she was wearing were ungodly and she kept swaying like a drunken prostitute after wild night of precarious affairs, all was swell. And golly, apart from the less-than-amused Bellatrix who sulked alongside, her chin so high it could brush the clouds were they a little lower.

Yes. She would be quite happy to strangle Wesker. With his intestines - for additional fun. Or at least with his abhorrent tie.

'I don't know why do I have to tag along.' Bellatrix pouted for the thousandth time in an hour and Hermione found it impossible not to roll her eyes, trying and failing miserably at hiding her ire.

'I've told you a gazillion times. It's for the sake of our covers.' she answered, battling annoyance out of her voice. 'Had you not barged in to that god-forsaken cafe, you wouldn't be here now, with me. Trust me, it's not a pleasure for me either.'

Bellatrix huffed and Hermione swayed once more, this time nearly toppling over, which, in turn, made the woman cackle. Cursing everything and everyone to hell and back again under her breath, she regained her balance and sighed.

They were away, to put it mildly. Wesker demanded a strange location, indeed. The brick houses were few stories high and the streets littered with papers. Every now and then they would walk past a barber's shop or grocers, but the area looked oddly desolated, with empty warehouses and boarded-up windows. It reminded Hermione of something else, a childhood memory so old that nearly distorted beyond recognition. Her father's cousin, Uncle Robert, the very son and heir of Great Uncle Thomas, had once upon a time taken her to Chicago. She was only nine at the time and he had some business to attend to. She was staying in the hotel most of the time, until one night her Uncle took her for a ride; they drove through the city, it was a bleak November night with rain lashing from the skies and chilly gusts from the Lake that pushed and twisted pedestrians' umbrellas. There was one street, however, that had her attention in the most uncanny of manners. It wasn't elegant, but lined with storefronts, restaurants and art galleries. 'Milwaukee Avenue' her Uncle had explained and she had felt a faint shiver run through her back as if the very name held a promise of sorts. The street they were walking now somehow resembled it, however it was definitely less...alive, no matter how peculiar that adjective might sound.

'Were are we?' as if on cue Bellatrix demanded petulantly and Hermione once again swayed on her heels, this time grabbing the woman for support. 'Why would you dress up like that if you can't walk?' the woman scoffed but instead of shoving her away, the Death Eater steadied her before resuming her brisk pace.

'I don't really know.' Hermione admitted grumpily. 'And I don't know.'

Bellatrix snorted and the sound was so undignified that Hermione smiled a little smile of her own. She turned to gaze at the woman out of the corner of her eyes and saw her profile, a slightly crooked nose and eyelashes to kill.

'I can feel you're looking at me, Muddy.' the woman growled without real anger in her voice.

'Mhm.' for all her brightness Hermione could not find a suitable response. Instead, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes out of her clutch bag. She fished out the last cigarette and without worrying too much, threw the pack on the ground, stamping it with her foot on her way. She lit the cigarette and narrowed her eyes, scanning the area for anything uncanny. There was a man in trench-coat walking on the opposite side of the street, a hat on his head and... a pipe sticking out of his mouth. Hermione smirked. Too much Sherlock, eh? There was a woman in a rather hideous skirt marching briskly in the direction, a pink scarf wrapped around her hair; presumably she was going for the Mystical Orient Look or whatnot, but instead resembled Sybil Trelawney and a Gypsy seer put together. Then, out of one of stores, a Black man in leather jacket walked out, various earrings dangling from his ears, a cheerful smile on his face and a guitar flung across his back. Hendrix, anyone?

'Hello.' he stopped when he reached Hermione, his smile almost delightful, his accent American, his eyes miraculously on her face instead of cleavage 'You got one of them cigs?'

'Sorry' she said genuinely 'it's my last.'

'Don't worry, girl.' he winked at her 'I'm great either way. See that shop?' he pointed at the building he had just exited 'I got myself a job.'

'Well, congratulations.' she smiled back at him, at the same time casting a swift glance and Bellatrix, ready to intervene should the woman go off the handle at being talked to by a Muggle, yet the Death Eater looked oddly relaxed if not curious.

''tis your friend?' he pointed and Bellatrix, blissfully unaware of the imminent danger.

For split seconds Hermione pondered at her reply, but Bellatrix was first to react, her response shocking Hermione still.

'Girlfriend.'

'Sweet.' the man's grin was huge but absolutely non-sexual. 'Well, I bid you a great day, ladies.' he bowed and then departed, his strut almost dance-like.

'Girlfriend?' she turned at Bellatrix, eyebrow lost in her hairline.

'Well' the woman huffed, putting both hands on her hips 'I'd rather not blow the cover. Who knows what he had been up to?' A car drove past them, a grey Ford Anglia, as battered as ancient as possible, spewing silver fumes that retched liked eggs gone foul. They both coughed, Hermione taking a step backwards.

'I think we're close.' she muttered noncommittally and once again looked around. There was a jazz bar just on the other side of the street, a poster depicting a trumpeter with a dark cap on his head hung on the doors, nontransparent glass rather dingy. Crooked Crane it read above the entrance, the neon sign turned off, emitting no light. 'Uh. Lovely place.' she smirked and cast an evaluating glance at Bellatrix who seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

'Muggle filth.' the woman spat with disgust 'Dirt and hovels. I am wasting my time, you know?'

She sighed heavily and shook her head. 'I feel like I am, too.' she admitted grumpily 'Help me find the place, all right? The sooner we get over and done with it, the sooner we'll be able to leave.'

'You have made yourself a deal.' Bellatrix nodded solemnly. 'A bargain is struck, now let's get on with the search.'

Soon one the alleyways, dark and dingy, turned out to be the right one. Red Queen the neon said, hanging crookedly above black doors, guarded by a monstrosity of a man, all baldness and black trench coat, a tattoo engraved into the bare skin of his head, spiked gloves and motorcycle boots. Iron eyes glared at Hermione.

'Hi.' she smiled, feeling like the joke of the universe, like an idiot marching stupidly straight into a lion's den, a dumb sheep readying for slaughter 'I'm here to see -'

'Sod off, missy.' the man growled, bushy eyebrows scrunching menacingly.

'Albert Wesker.' the swallowed uncomfortably. Last thing they needed was for Bellatrix to lash out and do something so typical - and so stupid. Praying to anything that might have bothered to listen, she tried again, showing her cleavage just a little bit more. If she were to whore herself, she would. The smile she plastered on her face was huge and slutty and almost wet in its compliance.

'Who the fuck is Whiskers?' the man boomed, impassive yet slightly-ever-so curious, ogling her breasts like a starved animal looking at a fresh piece of meat. It made her feel sick, just a little bit, and very angry. All the rage that boiled within her was now nearly spilling and she found herself thinking of sending a Crucio for good measure, just to watch him urinate himself and howl as razor-sharp pain devoured his body.

Of all the wonders of the universe it was Bellatrix's palm that rested on her elbow, that grounded her, firmer than a slab of stone. She swallowed once again.

'Not Whiskers. Wesker.' she tried again, this time, however, her voice was laden with the iron that usually overtook her normal tone, ever-so-sharp, ever-so-inhumane, a commanding, killing machine. As proficient as deadly.

And angry as Hell itself.

'Listen, missy' the man growled, his lips twisting in a vicious sneer, revealing yellow, specked with black dots of rot, teeth, a sigh as disgusting as alarming 'I've no time for you. Get a move on, bitch.'

'Well. Well. Well.' Bellatrix cooed all of the sudden, taking a cautious step forwards 'And what are you going to do now, you brute? Punch her? If I were you' the woman's voice lowered into a growl 'I would not try anything with her.' the last word was stressed, a warning that suddenly had Hermione swelling with pride, like a child that has been praised by a stern, hard to please adult.

'Oh really?' the man cackled, his huge frame shaking slightly, like a whale that had been washed ashore.

Hermione took a breath in, held the air in her lungs until her vision grew dark around the edges and then exhaled, slowly, letting go off the tension that had her ready to strike. Instead, she merely picked her cell phone from her bag, dialed Wesker's number and waited, her patience running thin. He picked up relatively soon.

'Yes?' the question was curt, almost irritated in its abruptness.

'We can't get inside.' she retorted swiftly, battling to shove the anger somewhere deep and dark where it would not manifest in a snarl or, god forbid, a sucker punch.

'I see.' Wesker sighed 'Hang on a minute.' he disconnected.

Licking her lips she stole a gaze at Bellatrix, who was leaning against the wall, hips canted and a sneer of utter disdain overflowing her features. Onyx eyes were fixed on the sky, their emptiness almost inhumane. As if feeling Hermione's eyes on her, she turned suddenly, shifted delicately and glued those orbs to Hermione's, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

She swallowed and shot the Death Eater a tentative smile that never reached her eyes, its intent unknown to the two women. Whether she was trying to state her gratitude or dissuade the tension, Hermione never knew. Instead she followed the smile with a nod, something that felt almost military-like. Bellatrix, surprisingly, nodded back and a realization dawned upon Hermione.

The code of conduct, the code of battle, the language of nods and grunts and fists and palms, that was the ultimate language they could speak. One almost brought up to speak it, the other taught with iron fist of war, they forgot the language of humans, soft words and promises of love lay abandoned, all that there was, was actions and commands. Stay down. Roger that. Proceed. Negative. Stand down. Attack.

The black door opened and Wesker's blond head appeared. His gaze locked with Hermione's.

'Brutus. You will let them in. Now. And apologize. To the lady.' his voice was cold as ice, yet his eyes held a bit of a joy, down-treading a man who had down-treated his woman somehow fitted with his nature. A wolf, a hyena, a creature protective of its own, protective as long as the property bore any value.

The huge man, Brutus (oh, the irony of fate. Brutus. Brute. Savage. Filthy Muggle.) nodded, grunting with evident displeasure.

'Sorry missy.' he barked, his eyes locking with Hermione's for a short moment of time, hate pooling those irony orbs, and then he took a step back, almost plastering himself against the wall.

'Well. Darling' Wesker leered, his smile almost sticky 'do step in.'

For a split second she envisioned smashing his face with a skillet. A sight to behold, truly. And then she merely nodded and walked forwards, ready to step, once again, into unknown.

The S&M club turned out to be quite something else. It was a brothel. And a strip club.

Red walls and blaring music, dim lights and round tables, men leering, jeering, men with tents in their pants, men with hazy eyes, men mad with lust, their eyes frenzied in flickering lights. Wesker motioned them to sit, the table he led them to was by the wall, not far from a stage, now concealed by a curtain so dark it drank light like a bottle of red wine.

'The show's about to start.' he said, a small sneer tugging at the corner of his lips 'And trust me, they do know how to entertain.'

'Why are we here?' Bellatrix, disregarding any decorum one might deem necessary in such a predicament, snarled, standing stiffly, hands balled into fists.

'As I said, they do know how to entertain.' the man's smile became even more prominent; the wider it grew, however, the less it reached his eyes, a paradox both complex and greatly unsettling. 'Please, sit and enjoy the show.'

And so Hermione, the obedient puppy, took her seat, fingers drumming against the table, its rhythm almost steady, like a war drum's.

'I see it's come kind of... special place.' she began carefully, her words measured and her tone calm. 'It's difficult to... enter.'

'Yes, they enjoy... letting folks indulge in practices... society does not look too kindly upon.' Wesker explained, sitting beside Hermione, his back against the wall, his hands lazily grazing the table. 'Therefore, to enter, one must be in possession of a valid... invitation.'

'Ridiculous.' Bellatrix's voice soared above Hermione's right ear and so she turned to look and found the woman close beside her, her face contorted in something that resembled... uneasiness.

'Come, Bella' these words that left her mouth were softer than show they had to put on required, something personal crawling in 'sit.' She pointed at the chair that stood closely to her own. 'It's alright.'

The woman shook her head, her defiance both fake and lame, and sat down heavily, like a sack of potatoes. A strange impulse made her skin tingle and suddenly Hermione found herself locking her fingers with Bellatrix's, a comforting gesture now turned something else.

'So' she drawled, forcing her attention away from Bellatrix 'Albert. As much as I'm enjoying our lovely date, I'm dying to know why?'

'Why here or why date?' the smile he send her was sly, almost amused. Were he something else than a slimy git that thrived on power, there would be some boyish quality about him; the slight joy that played along his features, however, was the utter opposite of innocence, it was as predatory as twisted: a monster's glee.

'Why both.' she shot him a smile to match his own. Two can play the game.

'Not so fast, pussy cat.' he snarled, his eyes suddenly almost maniacally ferocious. 'Uh oh. First, you see, you will indulge me.' a pale tongue shot out from between thin lips, moisturizing them in a somewhat disturbing manner.

'Oh, really?' she felt it instantly, the urge to kill. To pounce forward and leap atop the man, rip his throat open with her teeth, drink his blood and listen to the last rasps of his breath. Yes, over time she only grew more ferocious. The sweet girl whose greatest strength was the goodness of her heart, a true heroine was gone, replaced by beast of nature so terrible it should be shot down. 'And how do you imagine I do that?'

'I'm a simple man, Erika, darling.' he leered, drumming his fingers against the top of the table 'Don't expect anything flashy. First: enjoy the show. Then show me.'

'Show you what?' the game was getting old, reminding her of all the insane villains of Bond movies. Indulge me with a lunch, then I shall entertain you and unleash my shark and have it feast on a model's flesh. Yes, I will nuke the world and then we can all go live under the sea. Now, isn't that marvelous, Mr. Bond?

Maybe, and just maybe, Wesker was thinking along the same lines, his smile a little too exuberant to be real, a ploy, a play.

'Show me how you love.' his smile grew even broader, predatory in its mock-aroused manner.

'Lovely plan.' she snickered 'One drawback, though.'

'Yes?' he cocked an eyebrow.

'I don't love.' she grinned at him almost not-out-of-spite.

'What do you mean?' a voice chimed in and she turned, startled, having forgotten about the woman beside her, all crazy locks and onyx eyes. 'I thought all you folk do -is love. And get killed?'

Whether it was mockery or honest surprise, it never changed Hermione's mood. Instead of replying, she merely shrugged and forcibly looked away from the woman. Wesker was eying them with obvious glee, almost clapping his hands with childlike joy.

I hate children. Oh, how I hate children.

'I have a better idea, Albert.' she swallowed her irritation 'And I'd wager you'll find it equally exhilarating.'

'Oh?' the smug grin was now replaced with a small smirk, annoyance mixed with false comfort, his vanity oozing from every pore of his perfect face. And how she wanted to smash that perfection, that Il Duce jaw and smart hair and those eyes, so cold and so in control all the time. She did not hate him. It was the idea of him that set her seething with murderous rage.

'Yes.' she snarled, her aggression a throbbing sensation in the back of her skull 'You tell me why -and I let you live.'

'Smart plan.' he leaned back against his chair 'Although I find a major drawback. Actually' he lifted a slightly crooked finger 'make it two.'

'Oh?' it was her turn now to cock an eyebrow and smirk, battling back her ire. 'Illuminate me.'

'I've ran into a friend of yours.' he grinned, his white teeth flashing blue in the odd lights.

'A friend?' she repeated, suddenly wary. Surely -

'Hello, Hermione.' a female voice.

She turned widely and almost gagged.

Clarissa Marigold had risen from the dead. And was swaying towards them, a short red dress and knee high boots, a small smile playing against those perfect red lips.

'What the fuck?' Hermione found her voice and the ugly croak the rolled off her lips felt almost alien in its quality 'You were -'

'Not really, no.' Clarissa stopped sharp in front of her, the smile rapidly turning into a sneer 'You see, you saw only what I wanted you to see.'

'The curse you've put me under.' Wesker piped in 'Well. It was a clever move.'

'Unluckily for you' Clarissa finished 'I am loyal to my employers. Lucky for Al, I removed your magic.'

As far as shitty evenings went, this was by far the worst.

Darkness. All-surrounding, encompassing darkness.

Shit. She had been knocked out. By magic.

She tried to move but something held her in place. Cuffs. Nailed to the wall, above her head. Hence the odd position.

Bellatrix!

The thought set off all the alarms in her head blaring. She tried to open her mouth and yell, but no sound came out. Instead, she retched and coughed - and tasted something that resembled iron and salt. Blood.

'You broke your lip when collapsing.' a masculine voice spoke out from the darkness.

She was too proud and too trained to flinch. She merely bit on her lower lip. And waited. She knew the voice. Wesker had her captive. And Wesker was not a mastermind chessman he deemed himself to be.

You see, the bigger the pride, the greater the fall. Or whatever the say.

'Such a change, isn't it?' the question, rhetoric in its sardonic nature, was more of a statement, actually. She squirmed her eyes, trying to locate him, but the darkness was inscrutable. 'Such a predicament you've found yourself in, isn't it?' the taunting was almost lifeless in its predictability. The man could only play certain cards and wish for the to be formidable.

Such a disappointment, actually.

And that reminded her of Fleur and Bill and a meeting she probably would never make to. When things started to look up, reality always made its over-dramatic appearance and stamp every hope and grind it until nothing but ashes remained. Hermione inhaled deeply and held her breath, battling for focus and clear head, fighting off the anger that threatened to spill - and nothing was more pathetic than a helpless prison, seething and unable to do anything.

There was a movement, she felt it in the air - and then a blinding pain at the side of her skull where Wesker's fist had landed. Then another blow, this one to her nose, breaking it and instantly feeling her mouth with blood she coughed on. Then there was a kick to her stomach that set her coiling and straining her arms. And then there was nothing.

Probably because Wesker had hurt himself in the process of torturing her.

'The gagging spell will wear off quite soon.' Wesker informed her flatly 'Use the time to think... Be careful. Whatever you say in the next hours might be crucial.'

And with those words, he left. She listened in on the silence until it became almost unbearable.

Yes. He was cruel. But his cruelty was not... outstanding. And neither had ever been Bellatrix's.

Because the cruelest monsters were - and had always been - those who had nothing more to lose. Bobby Fergus. A sixteen year old with bushy blond hair and freckles all over his skin. She was twenty and they had captured few Muggle high officers. Bobby and her had been interrogating them for over twenty four hours now. The men had said everything they could. But Bobby had lost his entire family recently and would not relent. Had she truly wanted to, she could have stopped him. But instead, she walked outside of the bunker and sat upon a rock - and smoked and watched the moor and the clouds rolling above it, ignoring the screams - and Bobby's angry voice, demanding more than anyone could ever give him.

Wesker would push. Wesker would taunt and hurt and experiment and then kill and discard. But Wesker would be mathematical and full of sick joy. It was more disgusting - but not so terrifying.

Now, being able to compare the two, she knew what Hell was like. To be damned and tortured by those who are damned because damnation feeds on nothing and relinquishes nothing.

She had no idea how much time had passed. It could have been hours or minutes - or maybe an entire day. Eventually however, someone had entered the place she was kept in, the cuffs were pulled from the wall and she was forced to stand up. A rough arm dragged her outside and there were lights - and she snickered.

She had been held in dungeons of an S&M club. Which meant that her cell had actually been a dark room.

'Something you like?' the man who was dragging her had turned out to be the same gorilla that guarded the doors. She shot him a smile, knowing well how disgusting it must have looked, dried blood and swollen flesh. That earned her another blow, this one re-broke her lips. She smiled once again and a small fuck it flew through her head, when she suddenly spat on him, the red splotch landing amusingly on his mouth.

'Bitch!' he snarled and she was thrown against the wall, her breath leaving her in a heavy heave at the contact with solidness of the wall. A fist flew in the air and then crashed into her temple and she was thrown down and landed face-first on the floor, blood obscuring her vision. He yanked her up the next instant, but he was not prepared -

-for her to recoil. And she did. Turning with a hiss to match a pissed-off cat's, she kicked him, her knee striking his groin. He whimpered like a pig led to the butcher and doubled over.

It was a technique she read sailors used. First strike the knee or groin. Send the enemy moving forward and downward. Then smash them in the face. The forces of both movements, theirs and yours, should add power to your blow. Beware. It may result in severe crushing of their face - or even death.

She did not deliver a blow. She delivered the blow. She kicked his upcoming face with all her might, all the momentum of tensing muscles, and there a crunch almost sickening in its definite sound. He fell back and she climbed to her feet.

He was alive. She stood above him.

And them thrust her heel down, breaking his larynx.

'Fuck!' someone yelled and she turned. A man was dragging Bellatrix. They all froze at the scene. Her, standing by a lifeless body, him snaking an arm around Bellatrix.

'Stop!' he unfroze, his voice frantic now. He reached for something -and the she saw it. He held a gun to Bellatrix's temple. 'Stop or she dies.'

She cocked an eyebrow, waiting for his another move.

'Stop, or I'll kill her!'

She shrugged.

'Fine. Like I care.'


	23. Come Undone

The air shifted.

Draco checked the kitchen clock once again. The hour was growing late and still, Hermione and Bellatrix had not returned nor answered the frantic phone calls they had made.

Something was wrong. He looked at his mother who was perched upon a chair, a book in her hands, yet her gaze flicking along the walls, uneasiness ever present in her blue eyes. As if on cue, she turned to face him and a small smile adorned her lips. With a start he realized how thin and frail she had become, a ghost of her former, splendid self. He thought of words of comfort he could utter, yet nothing came to his mind so instead of voicing anything, he merely returned the smile, as tight-lipped and small as only possible.

'It's late.' she said 'I hope they'll be coming soon.'

'I'm sure.' he mustered a reply 'Probably something came up. Nothing to worry about.' the word diarrhea made his nauseous so he stopped speaking and swallow harshly.

'Yes.' she nodded eagerly 'I think -yes, this probably must have happened.'

'Don't worry.' he forced another small and walked towards the refrigerator, trying to rearrange his face.

The loss of his Father was still fresh, the memory of it. The light, the green reflection of doom - were he faster, were he less caught up in the moment, his father would be alive and well. He swallowed once again, bile rising within his throat. Were he less childlike, were he more like Hermione, nothing would have happened. The family would not have been torn asunder.

He began pacing, uneasiness mixing up with angst, a deadly combination he berated himself for feeling.

Give me focus. Give me strength.

It was of no use. He was just a boy trying to act like a man. The assassination of Dumbledore, despite what she had told him, had ripped something inside him. He was never strong - that was why he had hated Potter for so long. He was never brave. All he had was his haughtiness and desperate eagerness to appease both, his Father and his Mother. Whereas she pulled him towards what was honorable and polite, he pulled towards strength and coldness, a difference that was a gaping pit, swallowing his entire life. And now, for the first time in his life, Draco stood alone, with no code of conduct to apply.

It was easier for the Mudbloods. At eleven they were forced to face another world, a world they never dreamed possible. They had to adapt and be quick about it. And once you learn the art of adapting at such a frail age, it is easier to navigate through world later on. He, however, was born into a world so varied that almost unchanging. Nothing new to learn, only broaden the knowledge. No Earth-shattering revelations, merely growth.

And now it proved insufficient.

'Draco.' his Mother's voice broke him out of his musing, he stopped and stared and saw her blink, once, twice 'It's alright.'

He wanted to answer, to tell her that it's unimportant, that she never had to worry about him. Instead, however, his mind had betrayed him, forcing words he never wanted to utter out of his lips 'It's not.'

The voice was so small and so broken, like a boy's, that he nearly squealed at the sheer embarrassment quality of it.

'I know.' she said in the quietest of whispers and stood up from her chair, gently putting away the book she tried to read. She walked towards him and he stood, still with shock, and them she embraced him, her body warm and sweet. He shook, like a child, battling against tears that were threatening to spill.

'It's not.' he repeated and upon hearing his own voice, the realization of how utterly not alright everything had become (if you don't voice it, it's not real, isn't it so?) suddenly broke his resolve and there were tears pooling in the corners of his eyes - and for one more time, Draco Malfoy wept, his frame shaking, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

'It will be.' she said into his shoulder, the Mother so cold and suddenly so human. 'Not now, not tomorrow. Maybe not in the nearest future. But eventually - it will.'

'How do you know that?' he muttered, embracing her like a little boy he had shamed himself into becoming. 'Father is -dead-' the word came in a broken semi-howl 'just because I was too -too -' he had no words for the self hate he kept feeling 'It's my fault.'

'It's not.' she replied smoothly and he felt a surge of anger so strong he pushed away, blinking furiously at her.

'How can you say that?' he gritted his teeth, barring them in sudden outburst of fury.

'Draco Malfoy' her eyes suddenly flashed 'Don't you dare diminish your Father's final act of courage!'

'What?' his shoulder dropped as he struggled to comprehend 'If it wasn't for me -' he began once again, anger returning but this time more timid and almost uncertain.

'I've known your Father for a very long time, Draco.' she said, this time more gently and without that sudden flash of righteous rage 'And he was a coward. A coward and a bully. A lesser man, so to speak.'

'How can you -?' he started but never finished; she had never criticized his Father before, it was new and terrifying in equal proportions.

'If there is a fire no magic can put out, an accidental fire if I may add, and someone becomes trapped in the flames and someone else comes to their rescue and perishes - would you say it's the trapped one's fault? Or would you say it was the price of -of courage?' she stuttered at the end of the sentence, almost nervously as if big words such as courage were something that could not pass her lips.

'The price, of course.' he admitted seriously and momentarily added 'But -but -'

'There are no buts in this case, Draco.' she cut in, her voice smooth and even 'It wasn't your fault. It was your Father's final choice. And he chose this.'

'But -' he began once again, not even sure what he was trying to say so he stopped himself and allowed his shoulders to sag a little more 'Why did it come to this?' the whimper that left his lips felt like a child's and Draco for nth time berated himself for such a display.

'I don't know, son.' she smiled just a little bit, a tiny display of warmth dwindling in her eyes and he almost whimpered once again, overcome with emotions he could neither name nor explain. 'All I know, though, is that sometimes you have you choose between things you'd never want to choose. And in those time everything comes to what you are. Because, I'm starting to believe, it's not what you do that matters, but what you chose.'

'What do you mean?' he gawked at her, awestricken and mesmerized.

'We believe in the illusion of time infinite. What we do is always, somehow correlated to the idea of time. Choices, the act of choosing, rob us of time. In the nick of the time, we have to make decisions that shape our very cores. You may be a bad man all your life, but if in your last moment you choose remorse over pride, someone's life instead of your own, love and not hatred, then, I believe, you are bad no more.'

'How do you know all that?' everything she was saying felt naive. Like a little girl's speech, or an extract from a poorly written novel: naive, silly and absolutely cliche. Yet when she said it all out loud, letting go off pride that seals our lips or sense of shame that stops from exclaiming the obvious, there definitely was something liberating about it.

'I'm your mother, Draco.' with that she stepped even further back, her smile small and watery. 'Maybe not the best one ever, but -well, I love you all the same.'

An hour later Snape arrived with two people in tow. Draco sighed heavily. Hermione and Bellatrix were not back. Something bad must have happened. Whatever it was, though, he would have to rid his head of nagging insecurities and focus with all his might - because the two people in tow were the Veela, Fleur Delacour, and her husband, the eldest Weasel, William.

The evening was late and shadows had grown long. Draco stood rigidly in the doorway, staring blankly at the trio that had just Apparated on the pavement. His godfather draped in black, a tall man with ginger mane and marred face, his arm around a lean female, whose blond hair were kept in a neat bun. He watched as Snape worked on the wards, allowing access for to the premises for his two companions, while the aforementioned couple stared around, their postures rigid.

A cricket began chirping, soon followed by another and another - and all of the sudden there were noises all around them, a symphony of small creatures, singing about the arrival of the night. Draco inhaled deeply, allowing his lungs to fill with the already cooling air; it smelled like lawns and gasoline, stone giving heat away, cars and some dying flowers he could not recognize.

In some way it was a cracked evening. An oddly disturbed, eerily sad and somewhat profound in its symbolism. A dying summer and a dying day. Newcomers to a wold already shattered at its core. And suddenly Draco was filled with longing he could neither name nor understand, a feeling so deep it was easily omitted. Whatever he longed for felt like days that already had come to pass, like moments wasted and withered away, like stories that once upon a time rung in his ears, filling him with awe and tremor. And then, standing idly on the threshold as the trio made their way towards, pieces of the jigsaw mercifully fell into a place, he shuddered, remembering.

Once upon a time he was a dreamer. A little boy who drank in stories told by his Mother. Cú Chulainn. Finn Mac Cumhaill. Gilgamesh. Siegfried. Tales of men who face death with fierce defiance. Men who let go off everything and face their destinies, fighting until the bitter end, despite their pain, despite the knowledge of impending, inevitable doom.

Those stories made him weep. When Iseult cried and swooned and died, clinging to the corpse of Tristan, Draco had wept as well. When Roland faced numbers of enemy and held his ground until his body caved in, Draco trembled. When Leonidas led his Three Hundred into Thermopylae, he swallowed nervously. When the gods of Valhalla marched to battle the giants at the end of the Time, he saluted them.

And that shook him out his musings; Snape had changed the wards and the trio proceeded walking towards the house.

Draco watched as his Mother sped forward, her eyebrows slightly wrinkled and her features delicately stern. The newly arrived couple froze a few feet in front of the house, probably dubious and concerned.

'Where is she?' the man, William, demanded in ringing tones 'Snape's said Hermione's going to be here. Well -where is she?'

'Delayed.' Narcissa took it upon herself to answer 'She and another -one of us -went on a mission earlier today. They're not -'

'How can I know this isn't a Death Eater trap, eh?' William Weasley's fist clenched on a wand he - mercifully - still kept by his side.

'It's not.' a voice behind Draco spoke up and he almost jumped out of his skin, turning around only to see the young version of Hermione few steps behind him. 'It's all right.'

'Hermione!' William's voice was now full of relief. And then, probably thinking about something, he turned to face Snape, his face distorted in anger 'And you said there was an incident and -well, she's herself. What's going on?'

'Bill' Hermione walked forward, her tones gentle as if she was trying not to spook a wild animal 'Everything's true. The older me -no matter how odd does it sound - is out there, doing something vital for our cause. Please, trust me.'

'And 'ow do wee know you're not unzer ze Imperio?' the woman, Veela, finally spoke up, her voice shrill but calm 'For all wee know you might be an -an imposter.'

'Ask something only I will know.' the girl was now few feet away from the couple, her back towards Draco and his mother.

'Very well. 'ow did you and Ginny call me?' the Veela demanded rather imperiously, crossing her arms on her chest, the very figure of elegant defiance. Despite her pretty looks and silky hair, she was as deadly as the best of Death Eaters. And had she shifted to her true form, she would nearly unstoppable.

'Phlegm. But it was Ginny's idea. Not mine.' Hermione took a step forward, her voice icy cool. 'It's me.'

Phlegm? Despite the gravity of the situation, Draco snickered and that caught the Veela's attention. She flicked her gaze and send him a dirty look.

'What is he doing 'ere?' she pointed a manicured finger at him, accusation pooling her voice 'Last time wee 'ave seen him, he tried to kill Dumbledore!'

'It's alright, Fleur.' Hermione momentarily spoke out, her voice even slightly-or-even-more-than-slightly resembling her older self's, clear, with a hint of command. And then something peculiar happened. As if on cue, as if called upon, shoulder to shoulder Harry Potter and Antonin Dolohov marched out of the house. The air shifted once again and then there was deep silence, everyone staring at the scene unfolding before their eyes. Sensing the change of tension, the Golden Git grinned sheepishly and that, once again, changed everything. Veela narrowed her eyes, drinking in every detail and the nodded, slowly, as if mournfully.

'I see.' she said and whatever she had meant by it, was drowned in the curious softness of her voice. Draco swallowed abruptly and licked his lips, still uncertain. 'So, Snape... hadn't lied.'

'No, Fleur.' Hermione shook her head 'Come indoors. I'm sure Narcissa or Draco will be able to explain everything better. They've been with her -the longest.'

It was as odd as funny. Had someone told him a month ago, he would spend an afternoon with his Mother, some Death Eaters and Potter, Granger and the Weasley couple, he would have snickered, laughed and told them they must have had banged their head.

But they sat together at the kitchen table and Draco and his Mother told the tale, from the very arrival of Hermione, through the return to the Manor and Bellatrix hunt - until they stopped, having spoken about Hermione and Bellatrix leaving for a meeting with Wesker. There was a long silence following their tale and William nodded, his expression immensely unreadable.

'So. You suspect they've marched themselves into a trap?' he finally asked the question no one dared to utter and, surprisingly, it was his Mother, who nodded.

'Yes.' she said softly. 'We fear so.'

'Do you know the coordinates?' the man demanded sharply, his face scrunched and eyes blazing. 'We could... do... something...' his voice faltered as his send a quick glance at his wife, who merely cocked an eyebrow, as unreadable as a Sphinx.

'No.' his Mother shook her head mournfully 'We don't know the location. Somewhere in London. Nothing more.'

'She's resourceful.' Hermione piped in, keeping her voice level as she looked at Harry Potter, who had opened his mouth, probably about to say something rush and stupid. 'Playing heroics can blow their cover. Maybe it's not a trap. Maybe... I don't know.' she licked her lips, this time meeting Draco's gaze 'You know, she's pretending to be... Wesker's girlfriend... maybe she's doing, you know...' she blushed sheepishly, possibly freaked out by the very idea of her older self doing the nasty with Wesker.

'Gross.' Potter almost retched, his face flushed beetroot red. 'She wouldn't -she can't.'

At this point Dolohov cleared his throat and that reminded Draco of what had transpired between the two. Now it was his turn to blush. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his Mother's smile; it was small, quaint, and oddly amused.

'Right. As much as Miss Granger's nighttime activities might be of some of us interest, we should not dwell on it and move on.' Snape smoothly interrupted the exchange of embarrassed glances, his tones velvety and almost sneer-less. 'It would seem only logical that we ought to focus and plan on our next move.'

'Which would be?' Potter, the big-headed brat, cut in, immediately changing from blushing to angry.

'What do you find so hard to understand, Potter, the word focus or plan?' Snape leered, probably irritated with their dawdling. He put both palms on the top of the table as if bracing himself for the company of idiots and took a deep breath, pointedly ignoring the Golden Git's annoyance.

For what he was worth, Potter was irksome. To put it mildly.

'We should wait.' Dolohov discharged the tension by leaning coolly against his chair and putting both feet up on the table 'We should wait til morning. If they're not back, we look for them.'

'How?' Potter demanded immediately, anger rising in his voice. 'If you don't know where they are -you don't give a damn, do you?'

'That is far-fetched.' Dolohov spared him a withering glance and focused on Hermione 'You know her.' he said almost ominously 'Probably the best. Tell me. What would you have done?'

'If I were delayed' she said carefully 'I would find a way to deliver the message so that others won't worry.'

'You could be terrible busy, though. Or want to be inconspicuous.' his Mother added comfortingly, her face full of honest support.

'Of course.' the girl smiled at her, it was small and almost shy but when the smile was returned in threefold, her own grew wider, warmth pooling those tantalizingly familiar features that despite their similarity were different.

'I agree with the man.' the Veela nodded at Dolohov 'We must wait until tomorrow.'

'Since she's not here -and no one should take it upon themselves to take charge -let's put the notion under vote.' his Mother spoke out once again. 'Those in favor of waiting til tomorrow?'

Majority of hands rose up.

'Very well.' Snape nodded serenely 'We wait.'

'Call that Squib!' suddenly struck with an idea, Draco nearly leaped off his chair. Seven heads turned to look at him with expressions varying between mildly surprised and downright disapproving. He ignored them all and merely stared at his Mother 'You told me they went to a club. S and something, remember?'

'S and M, I believe.' his Mother nodded slowly, understanding creeping into her eyes. 'You want us to call... Quinn, was it?'

'Whatever. But...' waves of excitement washed over him 'he'll be able to track 'em all. The clubs, I mean.'

'Brilliant.' Dolohov exhaled with a hiss 'That will save us copious amounts of time.'

The man arrived within an hour. Nervous and twitchy as Draco found him, he was excessively effective. Soon they had a map in front of them, red circles indicating any possible location. The main problem now, was that there was a lot of them. Quinn, ever the brainiac, began filling them in with gory details of certain clubs' exploits. One of the locations was an all-men's club, other indulged in practices that involved animals and some others were under observation for slavery. On and on the list went and Draco had to battle waves of nausea. Deprived of magic, Muggles have somehow managed to enhance their lives, only that those enhancements were barbaric in their nature, to put it delicately.

'Gross.' Potter's noise squirmed in disgust as Quinn explained shamelessly what fisting meant. They went through a list of accessories Muggles used to let the steam off and then, despite being a Muggle-born herself, Hermione's face contorted in disgust. One thing it was, to act upon a need or preference, other, yet, to act upon those desires that were both carnal and disastrous. Sexual slavery, being one of them. It turned out that there was a huge market for women, emigrants from poor countries that fled their homelands in pursuit of money and decent living, only to be seduced and entrapped by men equally vile and greedy, tricked into believing they were to work as maids or nannies, those clueless Muggles were sold to places that entertained. And since a slave is nothing more than a property, its value estimated by its efficiency, he or she does not have a right to stand up for themselves.

It was a cruel world, full of abuse and derogation, where something equal in nature would down-treat and abuse another, no matter how superficial the difference in status had been. And it struck home, send a jab of pain and guilt through his body; having realized that the whole pure-blood mania was a frenzy as mad and insane, as the Muggles' sexual slavery ideology, Draco paled and stood away from the table, unable to look in the direction of Hermione Granger, a girl he had despised for nothing else but a gigantic mistake he had concocted in his mind.

As quietly as he could, he tried to sneak away from the kitchen only to be stopped by Dolohov, the man's face oddly brimming with sour understanding.

'Come, walk with me, boy.' he grumbled, casting a wary eye on the rest of the gathering. Draco nodded his consent and they walked out of the house and sat on those stone steps Hermione usually occupied when smoking. As if struck by the same memory, Dolohov sighed and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his jacket (red leather, how bemusingly un-Death Eater it looked).

'One picks habits, I reckon.' he thrust a cigarette into his mouth and offered one to Draco who accepted it with another nod of his head.

'Listen' the man lit the tip and threw the matchbox at Draco 'boy. We all blunder. More or less, we're wrong all the time. The gravity of the mistake is one thing, the other -well.' he sighed once again 'Don't get me wrong, boy. But that's all you are. A boy. Don't blame yourself for what you were taught. We are the ones who are in the wrong. Not you.'

'How do you -' he began, numbness seeping in, but Dolohov lifted his palm, silencing him with a mere gesture 'You see. We loved our world. Our traditions and our upbringing, our social status and privileges it granted. Maybe once upon a time it was a world of honor and nobility. Then it diminished. Maybe because we were too pampered, or maybe because we married one first cousin too many, I don't know, maybe it's the way of the world. What once was grand, became low and miserable, yet we clung to it, the dying generations of pure-blood nobility, boys who needed something to stimulate their over-pampered egos. And then he came, all glory and wonder and promise of the restoration of our... selves, I think. And like sick men, we rushed for the cure, not bothering to think about the consequences of our actions. We put all our faith in him -and the blind hope, the sheer desperation induced by responsibility of living up to the name... Anyway... what we taught boys and girls, was what we had been taught by our parents. Our parents, who sold us over to him. It's not your fault. It's not fully ours, you might say, but... Whereas you're still a boy, we're adults and we're supposed to be wise. Something didn't click, yes. But we were too blinded to see it for what it was - and that's when she came along and the burden of the consequences of living a man's folly.'

'What I'm saying is' Dolohov added after a while 'stop blaming yourself. It's too late. It's immaterial. All you can do is do what she's doing. Don't mop. Fix it.'

The silence was deep and prolonged and none of them found any words to break it, so they just sat, shoulder to shoulder, a man and a boy, smoking their cigarettes and staring into the night.


	24. Blàr a' Bhuailte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trough the ages your desolate pages we're forced to learn  
> Bitter days and your logical maze in return  
> Through the stages of conscience in cages we bleed and burn  
> Just take me to Valhalla
> 
> -Týr - Valhalla

'Fine. Like I care.'

The treacherous Mudblood had finally revealed her true colors. She had been an idiot to even remotely trust that bitch who now, bloodied and with blazing eyes, stood defiantly few feet away. Bellatrix inhaled steadily, if she was to go down, she would go with all the dignity of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.

The Muggle's arm that had been encircling her waist, clenched even tighter, as if the pathetic creature was still afraid.

'Stay the fuck back!' the man, his body reeking and sweaty, pulled them a step back. 'Stay the fuck back!' bits of saliva flew out of his mouth and Bellatrix almost rolled her eyes, torn between contempt and anger.

'Well?' the Mudblood cocked and eyebrow, eying them apprehensively. 'What are you going to do?'

'Is this it? You really gonna let 'er die?' the Muggle growled.

'Let's see about that, shall we?' there was a hint of amusement in her snarl and Bellatrix's heart suddenly thudded excitably against her ribcage. Wave of adrenaline sent her body almost shivering with sheer anticipation, as if reality had become somewhat more intense within those precious seconds.

'Drop your weapon! Drop it!' the Muggle shrieked, his voice so shrill that bordering or breaking.

'Fine.' the Mudblood drawled, acting as if nothing in the world could be as boring as this. She looked the man in the eye and merely smiled; it was a cold and predatory smirk, with hard, cruel eyes and some amount of ruthlessness in the corners of her mouth. Bellatrix knew it all when it came to smiles. They were both perfect weapons and ideal lifesavers. You smile and you may crack a man's soul, you smile and can save a life, these were the rules of the game. First, you soften up the prey, make them vulnerable, and then, when they're like game, you cut them down and hurt those places that are bound to cause greater pain.

She watched the woman lift up her Muggle wand and then drop it; as though in slow motion, Bellatrix watched the woman watch the falling gun, the Muggle's gaze also following its trajectory and then, when it was just inches above the ground, the woman lunged forward.

There was a bang and something wet and warm spatted her face, momentarily blinding her. She leaped forward, as the Muggle collapsed with a heavy thud. Frantic, she turned on the spot. Half of his head was gone, replaced by red pulp.

'Well.' the woman snickered 'A sight for sore eyes.'

'What now?' she turned to face her, black hair, pale faze and those eyes, those intense, almost frightening eyes and that scar, marring the young face.

'Uh?' the woman cocked an eyebrow 'I suggest we hunt.'

'Hunt?' it was stupid and pointless, they would do better leaving this godforsaken dump, but the Mudblood, clearly still high on her blood-lust, was eagerly looking ahead for even more fighting. And Bellatrix would rather die than be the one who steps down.

'Fine, girly.'

'Always the charmer.' the Mudblood shrugged indifferently and walked towards the corpse to retrieve her Muggle wand.

'Do we have a plan?'

'Oh, we'll figure something out on our way. But I'd really love to have a chitchat with Clarissa once again.' the smile the woman send her, was predatory and broad, almost devious in its nature, something Bellatrix both held dear and deemed as appalling. The entire situation felt like a dream. Bellatrix cleared her throat, thrust her chin in the air and stared down and the obnoxious woman.

'Well, girly, lead the way.'

On and on they walked and it was boring and ridiculous at the same time. The Mudblood was leading them first down a dingy dungeon, then up a flight of stairs and then they were back in the bar, but it was empty and the lights were on and blinding. What was worse, the entire area was simply desolate, as if every single living soul had fled the premises, the realization of which made Bellatrix's stomach plummet.

'What now?' she pouted, hating the woman in front of her with all her might.

'Now' the woman looked unfazed, her eyes scanning greedily the area 'now' she repeated and moisturized her lips, the tip of her tongue somehow catching Bellatrix's attention (and how awful the sensation was!) 'we grab a nice stiff drink and wait.'

'Excuse me?' she must have misheard. Or the Mudblood must have suffered from a head wound she had missed. Or the Mudblood had finally snapped like Bellatrix always predicted she would, back luck it happened there and then, though.

'Well.' possibly the woman had taken some mysterious liking to repeating the phrase, probably regarding it as either sophisticated or ominous. But how could a bred in filth creature posses an ounce of sophistication? It was a trait of her people, not the rest of the world 'It's already late and we've missed the randez-vous with Bill and Fleur. We've nothing better to do and I strongly believe we have matters to settle.'

'Baby Muddy wants her vengeance?' she drawled and sniggered, hoping the Mudblood would snap and Bellatrix would be justified in knocking some sense into her, just for good measure 'She got hauled off to a nasty, nasty cell and now -'

'What d'ya want? I'm thinking Whiskey.'

Of course. So rude. Cheeky, cheeky idiot. But to cut in like that - when Bellatrix Black was speaking - well. That warranted a nice curse. A decent Crucio at least.

'Something sour.' she mumbled dejectedly, thinking already of creating ways she could off the woman, preferably without anyone pinpointing the guilt to her. 'But not too sour. I presume there are no proper Wizarding drinks in this ding?'

'Do you want some lemon with that? Or ice?' she watched, incredulous and amused simultaneously, as the woman made her way towards the bar. Then, like some bartender, she leaned over the bar in her direction, flashing a very cocky grin at Bellatrix. As though against her own volition, Bellatrix's treacherous body began marching in the direction of the woman, her heels clicking deafeningly in the empty space.

'Lots of ice.' she came to a halt and sat herself up on one of the bar-stools. In the sharp, bright lights, the woman, the Mudblood, looked different. Much wearier and much deadlier. She watched as the woman turned to inspect the shelf with bottles and then stand on her tiptoes to reach the bottle that read Bombay Sapphire.

'What's this?' she demanded sharply, eying the blue bottle that was full of liquid which resembled a poison 'Are you trying to kill me?' she felt her voice pitch upwards and her throat constrained painfully.

'It's gin. No poison.' the woman threw her an unaffected glance over her shoulder, the raven locks still alien to Bellatrix's eyes.

'How will you remove it?' she asked, nodding her head in the general direction of the woman's shoulders, but the Mudblood had turned away once again and bent down to look for something, murmuring softly 'What's that, Bellatrix?'

'Your hair. The color. How are you planning -?'

'Oh' she straightened, a tall glass full of ice in one hand, the bottle in the other 'It'll either wash off or I'll have to remove it using a - a substance. Tell me' her eyes briefly met Bellatrix's and they were so intense and so dark against her face, that it looked almost unrealistic.

It struck her hard and struck her dumb. That awful, obnoxious creature, that piece of filth and annoying pestilence, was actually not so tragically looking. Quite fine, one might add.

'Hm?' she blinked, suddenly furious and embarrassed. 'Speak up, girl, we don't have eons.'

'Bellatrix?' the woman looked at her intently and Bellatrix swallowed harshly, her heart suddenly thumping in her chest.

'Have you seen the jigger?'

What?

'The what?' she shrieked and almost fell off the stool. It was ridiculous, it was.

'Small. Metal. Thingy. One uses to measure the doses... oh!' the woman exclaimed, ignoring Bellatrix's outburst 'It's on the coffee machine. Here.'

Bellatrix was compelled. She watched the woman as she busied around. Finally, there was a drink standing in front of her on the bar, on the other side of which there was the woman, a short glass in her hand (with three ice-cubes and some tea-like liquid in it).

'Well, salute.' the woman smiled and raised her glass. 'Don't worry. It's not poison.' she added with the smallest of smiles 'I would never poison a teammate of mine. Try it.'

And tried she did. And the drink, vulgar and Muggle as it was, turned to be rather fine.

'Well' she met the Mudblood's almost expectant and rather relaxed gaze with her own, pouring as much condescension as only possible, indicating thus she was merely appeasing an annoying servant 'for a Muggle drink it is not that awful.'

'Good.' the woman smiled and it was bright, brilliant and almost dazzling. 'You're doing Tequila next. I see some decent Sauza.'

A shot of silver spirit and three more gin and tonics later, Bellatrix found herself relaxing by the bar.

'Are you trying to get me drunk?' she sighed in exasperation, her self-preservation instinct kicking in with a force of a mule.

It was absurd, the entire situation felt like from a really bad dream. First they attended a meeting, then they were abducted and then they broke out - and here they were, in the same place, drinking Muggle spirits instead of escaping. Surely, the Mudblood must have finally lost the remains of her sanity.

'Nope. Listen' the woman sighed right back, almost back at her, and once again began rummaging through the various cases and shelves and cupboards 'I'm not sure, but I wouldn't wage against the idea that they wanted us to break out. The security sucked. Be that the case, they're probably waiting for us to run straight back home - so that they can trace us and take everybody in. In that case, we wait it out. We ambush them back on their own territory. And if our escape was sheer luck, well, then we're merely springing a trap. Either way, we need to' she found a pack of cigarettes and immediately opened in, thrusting one into her mouth and lighting it up in almost the same move 'take Wesker out -or in. Same goes for Clarissa.'

She opened her mouth to argue, but realized that the plan was not, in fact, so abysmally foolish. She was stuck with the woman, for better and for worse.

'Third' the Mudblood lifted her finger, grinning maliciously 'there is so much to scavenge here.'

At that Bellatrix's - to her own horror - cackled.

'Fine' she snarled moments later, her embarrassment as strong as imminent 'let us waste some more time.'

'Looks' the woman ignored the remark and smiled gleefully 'like this place is doing pretty fine. Who leaves five thousand pounds in a bar safe?'

'Is that much?'

'Well, that depends on how you look at it. But as for us - it's a lot.'

'As for us?'

The woman licked her lips, now almost uncertain. 'Let's say... for the likes of my parents... well, it's not a lot of money. But for some people, blue collar workers, immigrants, or, you know, bartenders and so on, it's quite a lot.'

Curious and curiouser. 'Are your parents wealthy, then?'

'Compared to Bill Gates they're not. Compared to your average public sector dentist, they are.'

'What's a dentist?' the drink (was it already the fourth?) was making her feel loose.

'They're specialists who take care of people's teeth.'

'Oh. So that's what your parents do? Manual labor?' it was meant as a jibe but came out more like an honest question.

'Call it as you may, it's profitable as hell and as manual as any branch of medicine would be.'

'Medicine?'

'Healing stuff.'

'So. Your parents are a Muggle version of healers, only that specialized in teeth?' her head was spinning ever so delicately now. Bellatrix put both her palms down, steadying herself against the wood of the bar.

'Precisely. I have an uncle who's an infectious disease specialist, only that he works oversees.' she added thoughtfully 'We specialize, Muggles, that is. Since we have no magic, we need other means to protect ourselves. And to advance and to adapt and to... I think, enjoy our lives.'

It made sense, at least in some warped manner. Had she no magic, Bellatrix herself would have thought of some other way to make her life bearable. Only that the thought of losing her ability to do what she was born to do, made her insides shrivel with fear.

'Overseas? The continent, you mean?' she asked, changing the subject, moving away from things that felt out of her comfort zone.

'The United States. He works in the CDC.'

'The CDC?'

'The Center for Disease Control and Prevention.'

She wanted to ask more but the moment she opened her mouth to speak, she heard something. She turned to listen in, narrowing her eyes. The woman never moved from her place. Instead, she reached down and grabbed something. Bellatrix met her eyes for the briefest of moments, waves of adrenaline washing over her with tremendous force. The Mudblood merely winked at her and focused her attention on the doors.

Soon, almost too soon for Bellatrix's liking, they were pushed open and Wesker, Clarissa and five more people walked in. Upon noticing them by the bar, the incomers froze for a second. And then Albert Wesker smiled as if he expected them all along to be there, by the bar.

'You are more resourceful than I gave you credit for.' he admitted easily, strutting in their direction, the redheaded bitch following him closely.

'That happens quite more often than I like.' the Mudblood sighed dramatically 'Fancy a Martini, Albert?'

He shot them his smile, the broad, flashy smile of a man so sure of himself, he deemed no precaution necessary. 'And a mojito for the lady.'

'Coming right up. Sit' the Mudblood gestured royally at the bar-stools 'They might feel too tall, but you're probably accustomed to that.'

'To that?' Wesker's eyebrow shot up.

'Having your ass higher than it ought to be.'

'Ouch.' he put an open palm on his chest, feigning hurt.

'Will your cronies drink something as well?'

The conversation made no sense and Bellatrix hated it. Instead of getting straight to action, here they were, role playing like pathetic schoolchildren. She wanted nothing more than to attack, unleash her fury on that bastard, that Muggle swine that dared to lay his filthy hands on her and on his bitch, who deserved nothing better than a slow and painful death, but she had now wand. And that thought kept her frozen to her seat, the unfamiliar sensation of helplessness washing over her with a freezing wave. It was all up to the Mudblood, the woman who was now making some Muggle drinks and pretending to be a bartender. It felt like a nightmare, one of those warped dreams her Lord had cured her of. It was coming back. The sensation of a world coming apart with no one to stop the total deconstruction of every single value.

' -Agency friends...' Wesker was telling and she snapped out of her reverie, ashamed and furious with herself for losing focus.

'Oh, I see.' the Mudblood nodded as if the situation was amicable 'Here's your Martini, I made it dirty.'

'How did you know I do dirty?' he smiled at her, as if it was some kind of a kinky date.

'One look gives it all away. And Clarissa, darling' there was so much saccharine poison in the endearment that Bellatrix smiled despite herself 'here's your mojito.'

'Thank you, sweetmeats.'

Wesker was looking from the Mudblood to the bitch, curiosity dawning upon his face. Bellatrix sighed, she was getting weary now. And suddenly there was a pair of eyes fixed on her, eyes so dark yet brimming with something immensely bright. She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight, and looked up and back, finding herself suddenly drowning in the immense depths of Hermione Granger's eyes. And there was no looking away from them.

The woman smiled, it was a private and a delicate smile as if there was nobody else in the room but the two of them and it felt almost fine. And so Bellatrix found herself smiling back and then cleared her throat.

'So, Albert.' the woman, Hermione, the Mudblood, broke the eye contact and looked back at the man 'I believe we have quite a conundrum to solve now, don't we?'

'A conundrum? Enlighten me, for I see none.' he snickered, instantly adapting his trademark sneer 'What I see is a trapped girl. Where's the puzzle in it?' He took a sip from his drink and smiled 'Delicious, darling. I'm almost sorry to kill you.'

'That's all right.' she waved her hand, dismissing his apology with ease. 'I think you are mistaken here.' she added, her voice almost velvety 'See, you've made quite a mistake.'

'Be a dear' Clarissa chimed in sweetly 'and keep your hands on the bar, Hermione.'

'Of course.' the saccharine smile the Mudblood sent her had Bellatrix almost bellowing in laughter. Instead, however, she pushed herself off the stool. 'Excuse me. You reek. I will go and stand with my Mudblood.'

'By all means. Do.' Wesker smiled at her, and she had to control every impulse that screamed to punch him on the face.

'Oh?' his eyes widened comically, yet the gaze remained cold and cruel. 'Tell me, before I drop to my knees in penance.'

'You simply fucked with the very worst kind of people.' her gaze traveled now, away from Wesker and onto Clarissa, who looked as bored as one only could 'As for you... You're one of us. What gave you the idea -?'

'Do you really think I care?' the woman cut in, her voice even and clear 'They will use me, they will get rid of me, yes. Only that no. Bollocks.'

'Bollocks?' the Mudblood repeated, her eyebrow shooting up. 'What's that, you're going to mess with those guys and then?'

'Oh you won't get a villain exposition from me.' the woman shrugged.

'Mhm' the Mudblood chortled slightly 'How nice of you to use my semantics.'

'I aim to please.' Clarissa Marigold shrugged once again.

'Please me, then.' the woman demanded suddenly and Wesker flinched.

'What do you want?'

'A little bird told me you had a list.'

'Oh. The list.'

'What's going on?' Wesker was suddenly out his chair, his eyes widening with alarm, this time it was genuine and real. And Bellatrix realized something was once again amiss. The players kept shifting their positions. 'Clarissa? What the fuck?'

The redhead turned and shot him an easy smile 'Don't get your panties in a twist, doctor. It's alright.' She sipped her drink and licked her lips.

'If you're fucking with me' he growled 'my man will fuck you.'

'Keep it civil, Albert. You're in the company of ladies.' the Mudblood shot, her voice now low. Bellatrix walked closer and stood beside her, their shoulders brushing. And only then she noticed what was below the bar, away from Wesker's line of sight. Fussing around earlier on, the woman pulled over a keg. Now it stood directly below the top of the bar, and the Muggle wand was lying on top of it. All the Mudblood had to do, was to reach down, point and fire. And judging from its height, the bullet would have struck Wesker somewhere around his midriff.

'Don't worry, Al.' Clarissa added with a smile 'I'm not with her.'

'Are you with me, then?' he turned to face her.

'Always.' the response was immediate and calm.

Bellatrix shook her head and observed the cronies from the corner of her eye. They were all huddled by the doorway, strange gray robes with buttons on them. They kept their hands in the pockets and there was something suspicious about it.

'I want your pass to the London facility, Albert.' the Mudblood suddenly spoke out.

'Oh, really?' he mocked, his eyebrows high and his smile cold 'Or what?'

'Or you die today.'

'Really?' he jeered and then spat out 'Well, either way, I won't give it to you. I don't have it.'

'Then poor old doctor Whatshisname was wrong?' the woman demanded harshly.

'He mistook me for the Scotsman, Edward MacMhuirich, who -'

'I get it, I get it.' the woman cut in, her tone bored. Something felt off though, and Bellatrix turned and glanced at the Mudblood. Yet the woman's face was impassive as ever. And the she saw it, this peculiar sign indicating her gut feeling might have been accurate: a small vein popping on the side of her temple. It was truly odd.

'So now' Wesker smiled at ease 'how about you step away from the bar and surrender?'

'Oh. One thing though?'

'Yes?'

With a speed of a striking snake, she reached down, pointed the gun and fired. 'GET DOWN!' Bellatrix was kicked in the shin at the same time and came tumbling down. Landing on the hard floor, she felt all the air leave her lungs, before she figured out what was going on, the Mudblood was lying on her, as loud bangs sounded in the air and debris flew around.

'Fuck!' the Mudblood breathed against her, their eyes suddenly locking 'Machine gun. Fuck!'

With a grunt Bellatrix pushed her off and crawled on her fours, not daring though to steal a peek. The Mudblood, however, crawled closer to the bar and suddenly reached up, grabbing the blue bottle of gin.

'Hey!' she yelled and flung the bottle at a Muggle with a big Muggle wand. For a second he lost his focus and lowered the tip of his weapon. It was enough, though. Suddenly the Mudblood was on her feet, aiming and firing and Bellatrix, who peeked out, saw the man's skull explode. Wesker's body was lying on the top of the bar, Clarissa was nowhere in sight. The Muggles began firing again, though and they had to seek cover behind the bar.

'What now?!' she screamed at the Mudblood as a chunk of wood pelted closely to her head, scraping the skin of her scalp.

'Dunno!' the Mudblood, who was crouching by the shelf and examining the bottles as if nothing on Earth was going on around them, shrugged noncommittally.

'WHAT?!' she shrieked in anger but then a bottle was shoved into her hands.

'Throw it!' the Mudblood was panting, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead.

Before she managed to, though, someone yelled something and suddenly the shooting ceased. The Mudblood lifted her hand, signaling for her to stand down.

'Listen.' the woman crawled soundlessly to her and breathed into her ear 'They're trying to round us up.' The woman's body was now flush against her own and Bellatrix felt something warm and definitely wet on her back. She shot the woman a questioning look and then looked down. There was an angry red blotch on the Mudblood's shoulder, a blotch that was growing rapidly.

'It's nothing.' the woman breathed with a grim smile.

They were trapped and outnumbered and the Mudblood was wounded. The situation looked rather dire.

'In case... It's a pretty neat Blàr a' Bhuailte as for me, you know.' the smile the woman shot her was a little too wide and too punch-drunk for her liking.

She was about to say something but her ears caught it, the faint grating noise of someone making their way through a pile of debris. She pushed the Mudblood down, forcing her to lay on her back. She held her breath and waited. The Mudblood canted her hips, the smile never leaving her lips and Bellatrix blinked.

Was she offering herself now?

The grating noise grew louder now and the Mudblood reached for her, grabbed the front of her dress and pulled down, on her.

'Play dead.' the woman exhaled against her hair and Bellatrix all of the sudden shivered, the warmth of the woman's breath was somehow unsettling. A lazy arm snaked around her waist, either holding her or forcing her down. With a start she realized that the Mudblood's knee was lodged firmly between her knees and that her dress had rolled up earlier on. It felt very wrong.

And then a man was standing above them, his shoe prodding the Mudblood's side.

'I got 'er!' he yelled and the kicked Bellatrix, hard enough to make her body respond. 'The older's alive.' He pointed the Muggle wand at Bellatrix, his smile sleazy and almost sticky 'You and I, bitch. We gonna have 'em good times. Then I'll fillet you like a fish.'

She snarled and cursed her treacherous body. It takes more discipline than one can imagine not to react to strong kick to the ribs and Bellatrix was a little rusty. Knowing she could not pull it off any longer, she opened her eyes and allowed the man to drag her to her knees.

'What about yer friend, eh? She dead for real? Eh?' his breath reeked of cheap spirits and food.

'See for yourself.' she snarled back. She watched as the man got on his knees, watched as he knelt beside Hermione, and when his face was turned away from her, she grabbed the bottle she had been holding earlier and smashed him on the head. As he crashed down, the Mudblood moved away, he landed on his side, still conscious, but the woman already had a knife in her hand and she slashed, with the tip only, and his throat opened as a wave of bright blood spurted up, spattering her face.

The rest of the men were coming. The Mudblood simply threw the man's Muggle wand, the gun, at her and drew her own out. Bellatrix looked at her, torn between admiration and amusement: a gun in one hand, a knife in the other, and the entire silhouette drenched in blood.

'What?'

'You look like a butcher, Muddy.'

'Look at yourself.'

Before she managed to respond and indicate her indignation, the three idiots attacked. The first one was immediately felled by the Mudblood's gun, she got the second one, hurting his thigh and the third one was too young and too startled. The Mudblood struck him with barrel of her gun and he lost his footing; slipping on broken glass, debris, blood and the bodies of his comrades, he crashed into Wesker's limp form, sending them down on the ground. With a mighty leap, the Mudblood was atop them, kicking Wesker off and pressed her boot into the boy's face, twisting his neck.

'Who are you?' she growled and he squealed. Bellatrix waltzed towards them, coming to halt near his face, placing her hands on her waist.

'What have we here?' she cackled 'A little Muggle baby sqweezed down like a pig!' he whimpered upon hearing her voice and she threw her head back and laughed. 'Kill him and let's be done about it. Itty Muggle doesn't know how to pway!'

'Please' the boy whimpered 'I'm special agent Jared Gimore, agent's Marigold convoy.'

'Who's afraid of whom?' the Mudblood demanded sharply and probably guessing the boy's confusion, rephrased her question 'Does the Agency fear for miss Marigold's security or does the Agency fear miss Marigold's loyalty.'

'Both. The latter.' the boy squealed, evidently eager to say everything and anything that would get him out of the predicament.

Such cowardice, Bellatrix sighed.

'Where is she now?'

'The moment it all started she left.'

'Where did she go?'

'I don't know.' he began crying 'Please... please, don't kill me.'

'Why not?' Bellatrix cut in 'You would have killed us?'

'Please, I never killed anyone. I never wanted...' he was sobbing now 'I never wanted this job!'

'Then why join in?' the Mudblood lifted her foot and stepped away from the boy, tilting her head like a cat.

'My mother... cancer... medicine.'

'Oh. How is she?'

The sobbing grew louder and Bellatrix picked her teeth, staring exasperatedly at the ceiling. Of course. Now the Mudblood will give all our money away. Silly, silly people. Such weakness.

'... -dying...' the boy, who was now a curled ball on the floor, choked out in between the sobs.

'Well, I'm truly sorry for your pain.' the Mudblood acknowledged softly, lifted her gun, aimed and shot.

'What?' she turned to look at Bellatrix, who was staring at her with her mouth agape.

'I though -you didn't -'

'Damn, Bellatrix. I didn't want his brain on my shoe. Let's go.'

'Wait!' it was insane. The Mudblood went bonkers. Definitely. 'You're bleeding, you've been shot, you're drenched in blood - you can't -!'

'That's why we robbed that woman.' Hermione was leaning against a wall in a dark alleyway, a limp body on the ground 'You take her clothes and check us into the hotel.'

'But why?' she almost lamented at that.

'Because then I write you a list, you go to a pharmacy and buy those things, come back and dress my wound.'

'But why?' she repeated.

'Because while you're shopping, oh, and by the way, buy some clothes for me, I book us a flight.'

'What?! Why?!' Hermione's bout of insanity happened at the worst time possible.

'Because we're going to Scotland tomorrow.'

'Why?' she sighed, feeling like a dying swan.

'Remember Edward MacMhuirich?'

'Yes...' she began slowly, but the woman cut her in.

'Well. Remember my uncle? The infectious diseases specialist?'

'Yes, what does it have to -'

'Edward MacMhuirich is his younger brother. He's my uncle.'


	25. Look Who's Talking

They waited but nobody came. They waited and waited, examining their telephones and talking to each other in hushed tones, very much the way one talks when present at somebody's deathbed. No one came, no phone rang. It was as if Hermione and her sister had fallen into a hole in the ground, as if the ground itself opened up and swallowed them whole.

And, quite frankly, it was terrible.

Narcissa finally called it the night and marched to her bedroom. She stopped on the threshold and looked inside. A double bed, pastel walls, some pictures in frames hanging in random locations, a tall window covered with long, crimson hangings, a white drawer in the corner and a small bedside table made of beech. It was all cozy and Narcissa would have found it enjoyable, much more than the cold and stony halls of Malfoy Manor, if only she was not that anxious. It kept boiling in the pit of her stomach, mixing with waves of nausea a the tingling sensation of sheer adrenaline, a mixture deadly and draining. She felt her knees weaken and stumbled towards the bed, grateful that no one was there to see her downfall.

She sat down on the mattress and stared at the opposite wall. There was a photo hanging there, a very tall woman with chestnut hair and gray, piercing eyes, was standing beside a lean, muscular man, he kept his arm around her waist and she was smiling to the camera, and suddenly Narcissa wondered whether she was looking at the picture of Hermione's parents. Something clenched painfully in her stomach and it happened, finally: a choked sob broke free and startled hair.

She had been taught never to cry. It was a weakness and not only that, but also something a lady never did. Displaying emotions was one thing, ruining one's reputation another. And no one, not even the fairest of them all, her Mother would repeat that endlessly, looked good while crying. Runny nose, red blotches, puffy eyelids - on and on the list went. A lady who cried was not only a lady who showed her weakness, thus stating she was no better than a commoner, but also ruined her looks, a thing that was deadlier than a killing curse.

And so Narcissa hated herself as tears flooded her face; biting back the sobs that were threatening to escape her lips, she found herself rocking back and forth, like a frightened child. It was dreadful and humiliating, but all she could thing about was how Hermione had held her in that bed; it was the comfort she never had, the moment the woman's arms had encircled her, she felt the safest. It was ridiculous and she knew it, to take comfort in a severely distressed twenty-year-old was absolutely unbecoming, yet there it was.

And then a noise shook her out of her musings. She almost jumped off the bed as she recognized the sound. Someone was knocking at her door. Hastily wiping her face with the back of her sleeve, she cleared her throat, praying to anything that might have been listening, that it would come out without a teary croak.

'Who is this?' it was quite satisfying, maybe not the icy quality she had mastered in her early twenties, but it felt almost natural, nonetheless. Level and maybe just slightly nasal.

'Antonin.' the man behind the door replied in a soft tone, as if - and Narcissa almost froze - he knew somehow what had been happening on the other side. 'May I come in?'

'Is everything quite alright?' she asked, trying to steal as much time as possible. She had to clean her face.

'Yes, quite. Would you like, perhaps, a cup of tea?' he must have recognized what she was doing and she almost felt graceful 'I, myself, am terribly thirsty.'

'Yes, please.' she answered 'Perhaps I could join you for the cup in the living room in few moments?'

'But of course.' she almost heard the smile in his voice and gave a watery one of herself. 'I shall be on my way then. I hope to see you soon.'

And so she washed her face and adjusted her hair and put on a dressing-gown she had found earlier on (it was chocolate brown and long), and put on a pair of slippers and marched into the living room, where Antonin Dolohov was already expecting her, two porcelain cups steaming on the table.

'Where did you find china in this house?' she inquired with a faint smile as he stood up to greet her.

'If look hard enough, they say, you will always find a way. I'm glad you came.' he returned the smile earnestly and she looked at him with wonder.

Of course she had known him long before. The silent, sullen man, who usually sat at Dark Lord's table without saying much, his gaze always restless, traveling from one companion to another. She deemed him rude and ill-mannered, a man who never spoke much and always glared, lacked all the qualities of a gentleman. Yet now there he was, the sullen Antonin full of smiles and sheer courtesy, Antonin who apparently was as polite as any.

'I am glad, too.' she admitted softly, sitting on the sofa.

'How are you?' he asked suddenly leaning in, looming above the table, concern shining in his eyes. 'Please, don't tell me you're alright. Forgive my impudence, Narcissa, but I know you're far from alright.'

She exhaled slowly, unsure whether to lie and back down or tell the truth and betray her upbringing. In the end she chose the middle road.

'I recently lost my husband. Now, my sister and my friend have gone missing. I am worried.'

'You may consider me crude' Antonin finally leaned back, giving her more space 'and maybe I am. Should I offend you in any manner, please know it was not meant nor planned. But I want you to know that you're not alone. And that you mustn't give up.'

'I know.' she retorted irritably, following his suit and also leaning back, distancing herself from the man and his obnoxiousness. He was blunt and, after all, ill-mannered.

'Do you?' he asked softly, visibly unfazed by her response. 'Do you really? All I see is a woman, clinging with all her might to a social relict. The impeccable ice queen who is about to collapse from the sheer pressure of the situation.'

'How do you judge so easily, Antonin?' she was angry enough to raise her voice, even though it was merely a tone louder, she felt as though she had betrayed herself once again. 'How do you look someone in the eye and tell them what they are?'

'I had told our friend once and now I am telling you.' he smiled almost wistfully and sighed 'I have a gift. I can see things about people. Whether they lie or tell the truth, whether they feel something or not. That is how. I know that you are in a deep pain and I also know that you're wasting your energy trying to conceal it.'

'Why not go and tell her that?' it was childish and felt silly the moment it left her lips but she said it nonetheless.

'Because, deep down, she acknowledges it herself. She merely pushes it away throws all her energy and her focus on solving this' he gestured widely around 'mess.'

'Oh -' she said, trying to find some biting remark, when her son suddenly raced into the living room, his hair messy and his eyes alight with something intense.

'She called.' he uttered breathlessly 'They're fine. They're going to Scotland tomorrow.'

'Draco, tell me again. Why are they going to Scotland?' it was morning and they were all seated around the kitchen table and Snape, his face sour, was asking in his most acidic voice.

'I told you' Draco sighed exasperatedly 'she told me they have a lead, godfather.'

'Yes, but did she tell you why so sudden? Did she tell you what happened when they disappeared?'

'No.' the boy shook his head and took a long sip of his coffee 'All she said was that they were betrayed but they got away and are fine and need to rush to Scotland.'

'Is miss Granger always that rash?' the Potions Master scratched his temple, his expression still sour.

'Only when something urgent is happening.' Harry Potter, who had been wiping his glasses during the entire conversation finally put them back on and spoke up.

'Mister Potter' Snape's mouth curled into something much resembling a snarl 'and here I thought rashness and recklessness were solely your domain.'

The silence felt almost strained, until Dolohov broke it, loudly clearing his throat.

'While they're gone we ought to do something ourselves.' he said, looking pointedly at Scabior and Rowle, who were murmuring to each other all the time. Like scolded boys, they turned away, looking positively sheepish.

'And what do you think that is?' William Weasley narrowed his eyes.

'Look for Ollivander? Gather more people? You tell me, Willy.' Dolohov smiled coldly, returning the glare eagerly.

'Boys' she felt compelled to break the potential fight 'please act like adults.'

'Thank you.' Snape, who was sitting beside her, leaned in and whispered with a faint smile on his face. She nodded and sighed. It was quite early but already felt as if centuries had passed since the beginning of this conversation. Without Hermione to lead them, they were acting like children, their differences getting ahead of them. Someone needed to step in. Otherwise the whole group would come apart.

'She's right.' William's wife backed her up, quite surprisingly, and grabbed her husband's hand 'Bill and I could look for more people.'

'Do you have any idea who might that be?' he turned to her, visibly battling his annoyance.

'Krum?' she answered immediately and that caught him off his guard and he had to nod, defeated.

'It's settled, then.' Narcissa once again felt compelled to speak up and felt the eyes of the entire room on her.

'Since when are you in charge, Madam Malfoy?' Scabior, who never liked and always treated her like an obsolete housewife, now grimaced at her. Rowle, on the other hand, looked sheepish, as if embarrassed by his friend's sudden outburst.

'Since she's the most level-headed of us.' Dolohov instantly spoke up, his voice firm, loud and clear.

'Hadn't she nominated you as her second-in-command?' Snape asked incredulously.

'Hence I nominate Narcissa as mine and therefore all of you answer to her.'

With a nervous gulp she realized it was getting out of hand. Dolohov's unwarranted trust in her wasn't something she would acknowledge easily. She was never the one to be a leader, she could be a decent and faithful follower, an obedient wife, a loyal Mother - but that was it. Whatever picture of her Dolohov held in his mind, it was nothing more than an illusion reality would shatter in no time. She needed to tell him that. Not now, of course. She knew better than to publicly question a leader - not because he would become vile and furious, but because it was shake his imagine. And so she swallowed all the words she wanted to say, and held her silence, staring right ahead, above the Young Hermione's head and into the wall.

Surprisingly, it was once again Fleur, William's wife, who immediately supported Dolohov's decision. The French woman nodded - Narcissa caught that movement out of the corner of her eye - and said 'Zis is a good decision.'

'I agree as well.' Young Hermione piped in, her voice much like her older self's. It was bizarre and disturbing, to be in the presence of someone who actually was two people - no matter how strange or illogical or clearly insane that statement might sound. Narcissa swallowed once again, her throat suddenly very dry.

'What do you think?' Dolohov's voice snapped her out of her musings and she forced her attention back at him and saw that he was looking at her, an unspoken question shining in his eyes.

'About?' it was petty and defensive, yet she tried to pretend she was unfazed and disinterested.

'How do we split up?' Snape chimed in, whether out of pity or to move away from troubled waters 'Who does what?'

'I think' Narcissa cleared her throat, straining her voice to remain impassive and cool 'it would be much like her plan...' once again she cleared her throat, uncertain of her next words and nervous beyond anything. One wrong step, one bad decision and she could bring them all at terrible odds. Now she understood the quiet determination of her friend, the weight that laid heavily upon her shoulders. She was deciding people's lives and it was terrible in its finality 'I think' she tried again, begging her eyes not to water due to the nervousness she felt 'it would be wise to send Rowle and Scabior on a patrol, Severus to spy on the Dark Lord...' she broke off, unable to carry on, almost panicking.

'That's clever.' Snape saved the day 'It might not please me to follow Him, but it's smart, nonetheless.'

She locked her eyes with Dolohov, begging him to help her, and he did. A small smile lit his eyes and curled the corners of his lips. Oddly, his approval felt almost warm.

'And what about the rest of us?' Draco, her darling son who had been looking at her the entire time, probably debating with himself whether to jump to her rescue or let her handle the situation on her own, finally spoke up. His was voice firm and reassuring and with a faint she shiver she thought of the men in her life who actually did have her back, much unlike her husband ever had.

'If Quint and you, Draco - and Hermione' she licked her lips and looked at the girl who nodded encouragingly 'tried some form of research... maybe we'd be able to come up with something.'

And that was actually it. All they could really do was hope for some ridiculous research that would bring them closer to finding Ollivander, stopping the EMP agenda and maybe, just maybe, making a small difference. Right now, however, they had nothing. They did managed to thwart Wesker's agenda, there was no virus that could be unleashed on the Magic population, they did manage to spring Bellatrix out - but that was nothing. Charity Burbage was still missing, her role as unclear as before, the Muggle agencies were still working on their Acts and Pacts and whatever these things were called. The research was going on. And the Dark Lord continued attacking Muggles, provoking a retaliation, destroying -

'If we took him out.' she said suddenly, straightening in her chair. All eyes were on her, but she ignored the sensation and once again met Dolohov's eyes.

'I don't know whether it's not too late to stop the Muggles. They already know about us. Maybe they would want to negotiate, maybe we could have an agreement - if He only he wasn't...' she stopped speaking and saw Dolohov's eyes widening abruptly.

'Wait' Harry Potter stood from his chair, his glasses almost askew 'are you seriously considering an assassination?' the incredulity in his voice prominent and laced with disgust.

'Potter, weren't you the one who was supposed to end him, anyway?' Snape stared the boy down and suddenly he blushed and sat back down, sweat beading his forehead.

'It's different' he mumbled and cleared his throat 'It's different' he repeated heatedly 'To kill a man in a fight is one thing. But to plan it all out in cold blood... it's evil!' he found the word he was missing and uttered it with so much conviction that Narcissa almost blushed.

And it struck her, with all tremendous power, how truly good this boy was. A force of righteousness in a rather murky world. And she felt amazed and embarrassed and small and she knew she was looking at an actual hero. Hermione, her Hermione, was a leader and, possibly, a savior, but she carried her own amount of darkness and pain - and would not stop to ponder whether an act was moral or not, only looking for its efficiency factor. She was their champion and their leader, but she was not a hero. The boy, however, was. Pure and innocent, he would always, even in the darkest of times, look for what was right. And she despised and adored him for that.

'What other choice do we have, Harry?' the Young Hermione spoke and Narcissa flinched, realizing she probably was witnessing the birth of the Older Hermione. It was nauseating and amazing to see that all-familiar steely resolve color her words and enter her eyes 'It's not right, of course, but it's effective.'

'There is no greater or lesser good, Hermione!' he exclaimed 'There is only good or bad. You cant' justify doing a bad thing by saying you're doing it in case to achieve something good.'

And of course, he was as right as unrealistic. Now, Narcissa knew what price both Older Hermione's Harry and the woman herself had paid. To taint the heart of a man so pure and to break a girl so strong was despicably evil. And she knew, from Hermione's tale, the one she told her on the rocky cliff somewhere in Scotland, that indeed, the two of them had been broken and remolded into something new.

'Will it solve anything?' oddly enough, it was Draco who backed Harry 'Killing him, I mean?'

'We don't know that.' she admitted, her heart heavy 'But maybe, just maybe, it'd be worth a shot.' her eyes remained glued to the boy and she begged him wordlessly to understand.

'Then I suggest knowing before trying.' Young Hermione said in clear voice 'That's how we can avoid doing unnecessary evil.'

'So do you believe in sparing him?' Rowle looked incredulous 'I thought you hated the man.'

'I might hate him, yes.' Harry Potter, the voice of everything that was good, said calmly 'But I don't want to kill him. It's not the way. Never the way.'

'But I thought we set out to stop him -?' Young Hermione now turned to look at him, bewilderment evident on her face.

'Stop, yes. But kill? We never said that.'

'But I thought -' she broke off and looked at Narcissa, her eyes huge and pleading 'What do we do?'

It felt heavy, to make decisions like those, but she had to, whether she liked it or not - had to until she solved the problem of wrongly elected leadership with Dolohov.

'We contact the Muggles.' she said, battling to keep sheer fear out of her voice. She remembered it all. It felt like going back into that cage she had been broken out of. 'We negotiate.'

'But why?' Scabior whined, looking at her with so much resentment that if eyes could do magic, she would have dropped dead. 'Why not just take 'em down?'

'Negotiating might buy us time.' Dolohov pointed out 'I doubt we'll succeed.' he added apologetically 'But we might learn something of their plans - that's one thing. And secondly, we might locate Ollivander by the time. Or figure out how to handle Him.'

'So, summing it all up' Snape added thoughtfully 'While Fleur and William try to coerce more people into collaboration with us, Scabior and Rowle patrol, I spy on the Dark Lord, Quint, Draco and Hermione research some way to find Ollivander, what does the rest of us do?'

'Antonin and I will find a way to meet with the Muggles and speak to them.' she said swiftly, random thoughts drifting through her head 'Hermione, the older one I mean, and my sister do their thing in Scotland... It's a plan, isn't it?' she looked pleadingly at Dolohov, who nodded.

'What about me?' Harry Potter asked, his ire righteous and true 'Do I stay back? Just because I don't believe in the grey-zone?'

'We need someone to guard the Walker family' she reminded him steadily, praying he would agree and stop causing distress 'That's one thing. And the second: we need someone to have our backs.'

'In other words, I'm obsolete because I didn't agree to your murderous plans?' he remarked but nodded, nonetheless, his expression grave and stern 'We're doing it all wrong.'

'Tell me then' she lost her patience and snapped at the boy 'what would you have us do?'

'I don't know' he admitted, his voice broken and weak 'I truly don't know.'

Soon after the breakfast, Rowle and Scabior departed, Snape soon following them. Fleur and William were sitting in the kitchen, chatting quietly about something. Harry, brooding and visibly hurt, left for Walkers' hideout and Hermione, Draco accompanied Peter Quint upstairs, to the impromptu research center they had established. She was finally alone, sitting in the living room, her head in her hands, a splitting headache almost blinding her. She inhaled deeply, reveling in the silence. Years of living in the Malfoy Manor, its halls desolate and silent, she grew accustomed to her loneliness. Being around people for such a long time was now tiring. Tiring and more tricky, but definitely more enjoyable that the company of Death Eaters she had to suffer when the Dark Lord had hijacked their house and established his headquarters there.

She scratched her head, trying to figure out a way. They needed a contact. Someone they could talk to - and someone they could trust, even a little bit. A Muggle who would be interested in hearing them out. Maybe, maybe a truce could be worked out. One side would cede something, the other could step back - and maybe their world could merge, instead of standing at terrible odds with each other.

Her reverie was once again broken by her son, who marched into the room, a phone pressed tightly against his ear.

' -found her -' he murmured to whoever was on the other side and nodded at her, removing the phone 'Hermione. Wanted to talk to you.' he handed her the phone and smiled 'Just put it to your ear and talk. I'll be in the kitchen.'

She nodded and tentatively raised the device to her ear. Such a gentleman the boy had become. 'Hello?' she said loudly.

'Ouch! Don't yell!' the person on the other side instantly exclaimed, laughter coloring her voice 'Narcissa, don't yell. I can hear you just fine.'

'Sorry.' she said, smiling instantly. It was unmistakeably Hermione, her voice, her laughter and suddenly there was this warmth, pooling in the pit of her stomach, a strangely childlike sensation that everything was going to be alright.

'How are you?' she demanded, realizing she had fallen silent.

'Fine.' Hermione answered smoothly 'We had a rough ride, so to speak, but right now we're in Glasgow and it's really fine. We'll be renting a car, you know what a car is, don't you?'

'Of course.' she rolled her eyes but her smile was still on her face, involuntary and immensely relaxing. 'Where are you going?'

'See, we'll be driving north, like really far north. There is someone I need to talk to, someone who might be able to get into the London facility. How are things home?' she said it all in one breath and Narcissa giggled.

'Dolohov put me in charge.' she said instantly, readying herself to hear Hermione's disbelieving scoff or a harsh instruction to put him on the phone.

'Good.' the response was almost joyful and had Narcissa start with surprise 'I'm more than relieved to hear that.' the woman added and Narcissa closed her eyes in disbelief.

'Really?' it was almost a stutter and she almost cursed out loud, but Hermione simply scoffed, dismissing the question and jumping onto another subject 'So, what are you up to?'

'I' she licked her lips, still nervous, her palms sweating and the phone oddly heavy pressed against her ear 'I send Rowle and Scabior on a patrol, I send Snape to follow Him, William and his wife will soon look for more people to join us...' she allowed her voice to crack and sighed, waiting for the inevitable.

'OK. What else?' the question was simply and Narcissa could hear the city through the phone, people and engines and honks, and for a second she almost felt dizzy, listening to invisible Glasgow. It felt as though an entire reality had been squeezed into the tiny, black, device. Muggles and their technology.

'I want' she said and chewed on her lower lip, unable to carry on.

What if the entire idea was simply treason? What if she had betrayed Hermione's trust and friendship? Those were the people that had hurt the woman in such ways she could not imagine. It was too late though, too late to unspeak what she had said hours earlier.

'Tell me.' Hermione implored softly 'Look' the woman added briskly 'I trust you more than I trust myself, OK? You're smart and level-headed, you won't do anything rash or dumb, it's OK. Tell me.'

'I thought' she felt deeply touched now and felt like crumbling into a ball and weeping her broken, broken heart one 'I thought we could...'

'-You could?' the woman on the other side was immensely patient, her voice still light and laced with laughter 'C'mon, what did you do?'

'-negotiate with the Muggles!' she blurted out and froze, waiting for Hermione to understand the gravity of her treason.

And the silence that came was almost deafening.

Finally, Hermione spoke, her voice small and quavering 'Negotiate...?'

'I'm so sorry -' Narcissa felt the tears pool in her eyes and she blinked to keep them at bay. Now was not the time to cry, now was the time to assess and address the damage.

'Don't be.' the woman on the other side said harshly, something coloring her voice 'You know what?'

'Yes?' she waited for the angry words to fall, so she simply hung her shoulder and closed her eyes.

'I think you're brilliant.'

What?

'What?' she repeated dumbly, not trusting her ears.

'I think' Hermione said 'that you are brilliant, Narcissa Malfoy and I could kiss you right now.'


	26. Lay My Body Down

The hotel was crabby, to put it mildly. Being one of those places where no one asked what happened to you or why did you crash the lobby bloodied and swaying on your feet, a place where cheep prostitutes mixed with runaway wives and drug dealers and people on the run, it had its unmistakable aura of a dangerous place. And despite series of anti-nicotine laws issued by the government, the entire premise reeked of stale cigarettes.

As Bellatrix dragged her into the lobby and an older lady with a truly horrific perm (drumsticks sticking out from her bun) and cigarette dangling haphazardly from the corner of her mouth looked up from a trashy magazine she was reading, Hermione immediately knew that, despite being ugly and smelly, the place was perfect.

The lobby consisted of a counter, a cupboard and a stairway leading to higher floors. In order, however, to gain access to the stairway, one had to march past the counter and the old lady guarding it looked rather fierce. She had a sunken face, gaunt eyes and extremely thin lips. However, her nails had been painted bloody red and she wore a trace of lipstick and eyeshadow, giving her appearance of a retired whore. Which she probably was, Hermione pondered and felt a faint shiver of fear.

You see, whores are scary. There is no beast in the wild more territorial than a streetwalker. People say the world knows no greater force than a mother's love. However: hell hath no fury like a prostitute broke. Hermione bore witness to many drastic scenes during the first years of Muggle War. She was broke herself and homeless for some time. And despite being a Witch, she did run like hell a couple of days, chased by streetwalkers who mistook her for competition. And she did bear the marks of sparkly nail extensions more than once.

Yes, of all the things Hermione Granger feared, whores came up pretty high up in her book. I mean, after all, we all have funny phobias. Or don't we?

With a faint snicker she noticed a dusty painting hanging behind the lady. The smiling face of George Carey, the current and rather disliked Archbishop of Canterbury ever, looked out very out of place. And then, squinting her eyes, she saw holes in the picture and realized it served as target practice for darts. She felt herself grin and swallowed some blood immediately. The wound, of course, had to be fucked up. No simple and boring gunshot she could bandage up and ignore. Instead of getting nicely stuck, the bloody bullet had to become irksome - and that meant that probably they would have to remove it, a practice that, when times were good, was unnecessary. It was probably the dumbest film stereotype: whenever a person gets shot, you had to get rid of the bullet. Even, if it meant severe loss of blood and possible complications. Roosevelt, Hermione pondered darkly, had never had his bullet removed and lived to be a happy man. But hey, fate was a bitch and she evidently enjoyed messing with her. So yes, what's a better thing that have a Death Eater who never has come across Muggle stuff, perform a surgery? No X ray, no tools, nothing.

She bit her lip.

'What do yew want, eh?' the woman demanded suddenly, narrowing her eyes and pouting like crazy.

'Hi' Hermione cleared her throat and swallowed some more blood. Bellatrix's arm, snaked around her waist, tightened. Whether with anger or for support, she wasn't certain. 'A place just for the night.' She tried to smile and immediately felt like hell. She was starting to develop a fever. Brilliant.

'What is wrong wiv you? Thee lesbians?' the woman probably disapproved of any same-sex pairings, judging from the grimace that crept on her face 'No funny stuff. If I see awer 'ear any funny stuff, yer aaaht ov 'ere, innit.'

Hermione stole a glance at her partner and saw Bellatrix scowl. The woman looked absolutely bewildered, probably not understanding a word the clerk was saying. And when Bellatrix felt confused or threatened, she did tend to overreact.

'No funny stuff.' Hermione refocused on the old lady of doom and gave her a tight-lipped smile, hoping with all her heart no blood would leak through her lips. 'We're not, you know.'

'Blimey! They all say they're not. And then there's funny stuff an' I 'ave kick 'em out.' the old lady snarled, banging her fist against the counter. 'By da way, what is wrong wiv you? That coat ain't yaaahrs, is it? Who did yew take i' off from, an elephant?' she probably would not take a no for the answer, so Hermione took a deep breath, which turned out to be a huge mistake as searing pain in her side almost knocked her off her feet, and licked her lips.

And yes, the coat was pastel and huge and taken off from the woman they had robbed and Hermione knew she must have looked like a hooker after a severe beating or a girlfriend on the run. Anything was better, though, than parading in a torn dress and a bleeding hole in her shoulder.

'I got shot.' she said and added 'A bloke was trying to rob m-'

'I don't care, girl. Whether yew robbed someone awer someone tried ter rob you, it's none ov me business.' the woman cut in briskly 'Do yew 'ave da money? If yer broke, so 'elp me God, I'll frow yew aaaht sooner van you'll manage ter say: Oh God. Nuff said, yeah? These are da rules. If da police comes lookin' fer you, I won't say anythin' abaaaht yaaahr stay 'ere, get it? And if yaaahr mafia boyfriend comes looking, I'm not sayin' anything. Just as long as yew 'ave da money an' promise no funny business wiv 'er.' she nodded towards Bellatrix, who merely fumed but remained silent, her chin high and her onyx eyes ablaze.

Suddenly there was a commotion and a blond woman with smeared makeup and blood-red dress came crashing down the stairs, landing in a heap few feet away from the counter. The older lady froze for a second and then leaped away from her place, bellowing in such tones that glass shook. 'Jean-Paul! Get yaaahr ass down 'ere! Right dis momun', boy!' then she looked at the two of them, face curled with disgust, and added in confidential manner 'The French! Allus da same story! And she keeps comin' back fer mawer. They argue, tear dis place apart, an' then it's funny business all da time, until they fight once again. Know what I mean?' she took a deep breath and bellowed, making them flinch 'JEAN-PAUL!'

She felt very weak now, her gaze hazing and her knees trembling. Bellatrix must have felt it as well. The arm that clung to her waist was very tight now, pulling her in, allowing her to steady herself against her. The woman was warm and Hermione found it bemusingly pleasant to lean into her touch, something probably induced by fever.

'Lady' Bellatrix clicked her tongue, probably struggling to sound civil 'my friend' she said the word as if it hurt her lips to do so 'needs her rest. Can we get a room?'

'Blimey! Yaaahr friend is sick. Any damage she does, yew pay extra. And pay now. Two 'undred pounds.' the old lady glanced at Bellatrix and it was almost funny. Here they stood: a Mudblood clinging to a Death Eater for her dear life and a Muggle who had the audacity to disregard both of them. Bellatrix was probably thinking along the same lines, Hermione saw disbelief pool her eyes. The woman had probably never been blatantly ignored in her life, especially not by a Muggle. So she nudged her gently, making sure Bellatrix would not lose it and do something that could bring them hell lot of additional trouble.

'Two hundred pounds?' she muttered 'It's not Sheraton.'

'And do yew know da price ov da silence, girly? My 'ouse, me rules. Thee get it?'

'I get it.' she nodded hastily, reaching tentatively into the pocket of her coat. Any additional movement brought even more pain and for a second there she feared she might pass out on the spot. Luckily, she managed to focus, override the wave of dizzying nausea and put her hand inside the pocket.

They sorted the money earlier on. Most of it went to Hermione's and Bellatrix's bras, something the older woman fussed about for what felt like hours. Hermione had five hundred pounds in the pocket of her coat, and Bellatrix had a hundred stashed in her cleavage. She counted two bills and handed them to the woman without saying anything. The old lady grabbed the money in one swift move and then studied them against the light, scrunching her face in concentration. Then, without any warning, bellowed 'JEAN-PAUL!' once again, hid the money in the pocket of her flowery dressing-gown, returned behind the counter and threw them keys to their room.

'Second floor, number twen'y seven. Now, 'urry up befawer I kill 'im.' she said and without even bothering to look at them, she abandoned her post once again and began sprinting up the stairs.

'Some lady, eh?' she murmured gently to Bellatrix, but the humor was lost on the woman, who looked positively murderous. And so Hermione ignored her and allowed the Death Eater to drag her up the creaking staircase and into their dim, dingy and mole-infested room.

Bellatrix was gone and she was sprawled on the bed, inhaling the sweetly stench of mattress that was so battered, it was more holey than cheese. She watched the ceiling, feeling peculiarly detached from everything. Even the burning sensation in her shoulder felt oddly distant, as if someone else was in pain. She was sweating profusely and her teeth chattered as waves of fever washed over her.

The wound was getting infected. And it was almost impossible for the infection to spread that fast, but her immune system had suffered a tremendous deal not so long ago, having battled the disease Wesker had granted her with. She sighed heavily, wondering darkly if that God-forsaken room would be the last thing she would see before her utterly pathetic demise.

Bellatrix wouldn't be able to buy everything they needed. Even though she departed for the nearest twenty-four-hours-open pharmacy and would be able to put her hands on some of the things Hermione had asked her to acquire, antibiotics and some medications she required needed a prescription. Removing the bullet was possible, but healing her not. And so she planned and pondered and finally decided to first get rid of the bullet and then loot another pharmacy for medicine. Right now, however, she needed to book a flight to Scotland.

Focusing on the task at hand, she forced her body to obey and rolled over to the edge of the bed. Then she dropped her legs, wincing as a powerful wave of pain washed over her, momentarily making her incredibly dizzy.

Do not pass out. Slowly, like a child learning to walk, she pushed herself up, climbing to her feet with the clumsiness of a drunk. The moment she straightened up, another wave of pain struck her and she had to stabilize herself against the wall, panting as if she had just ran a marathon. Or a mountain marathon. Around Everest. She snickered, her mind rather delirious and her sense of humor even worse than normally.

'Bloody ridiculous, Granger.' she muttered to herself, feeling like a loony. And that had her thinking of Luna Lovegood and that fateful train journey back in their fifth year. Wobbling on her feet, she staggered towards the table that stood beside a small window. There was a telephone standing on it, right beside a plastic vase with a plastic rose inside. Se hoped to God the phone itself wasn't plastic as well.

Losing her mobile phone sucked. The more time went by, the more things she lost. Her wand, later wands, now her mobile - hopefully the next thing she lost wouldn't be her mind. She was just not ready to part with it. Not fully, at least.

Mercifully there was a phone book just underneath the phone. It was battered and many pages were missing - and some of them were stained with blood and something brown that could have either been coffee or tea - or something else, like diarrhea. She shrugged the thought away and poured through the pages, looking for services section. Then she saw it, the colorful and pleasant advertisement and carefully read the words. EasyJet was quite a new company, having been established only two years ago, in 1995. She licked her lips, willed her voice steady and dialed a number.

The booking had been quite a pleasant business. She had spoken with a very nice young woman. Bellatrix would travel as the woman they had robbed and she would travel as herself. Hermione hung up and prayed their victim hadn't come round just yet and lodged a charge of aggravated assault and battery to the local authorities.

All that remained for her to do, was to magically find her way back to the bed, survive till Bellatrix returned and then perform a surgery neither of them really knew how to. Piece of sodding cake, she quipped to herself and instantly chided herself for a truly humorless humor. Wiping her brow with back of her hand, suddenly she felt immense distaste. Her mouth had turned into the Sahara Desert and swallowing blood on constant basis, gave her a truly abhorrent taste. She could taste stale cigarettes, sour alcohol and blood in her mouth and suddenly her stomach turned and she lost her footing and landed on her fours, yelling with sudden burst of pain. But her stomach revolted and she found herself retching and simultaneously choking on gasps of pain and vomit.

She had a good chance of asphyxiating. And so she willed herself to regain control over her body and allowed herself to throw up. Which was both an instant relief and another source of pain. This time, however, the pain was too grand for her conscience to bear and suddenly she was falling, falling into an abyss where time nor space mattered.

' -Muddy, stop playing dead!' a panicky voice tore through her velvety oblivion. She felt heavy and groggy and when she lifted her eyelids, she saw a blurry face looming above her. She blinked and tried to swallow, but her throat was just too dry and she ended coughing.

'Blood.' the woman above her muttered softly, wiping her chin with a battered handkerchief 'You're coughing up blood, Muddy. It's not good.'

I know, she wanted to say, but her lips felt as though they had been made of wood, so instead she nodded feebly.

'I got you everything you wanted. How do we -get on with it?' Bellatrix, Hermione recognized the woman suddenly, asked softly.

She blinked once again, forcing herself to focus. She needed to think. And she needed to be able to speak. And for that she needed -

'-what ter.' she wheezed frantically but Bellatrix's face showed no indication of actually understanding the word she had said. So she tried again 'What - wat-er.' her throat burned and felt as if it was about to come apart any moment now. But mercifully, this time Bellatrix understood and immediately leaped off the bed and sprinted to the tiny bathroom that was just next door from their room. She returned promptly, a rather ugly plastic cup in her hand. Gently, as if tending to a baby, she lifted Hermione's head up and offered her the drink.

Never had water a lovelier taste then now. Even though it was murky and yellowish and tasted like rusty pipes and metal, it felt like a breath of life, bringing comfort to her constricted throat and sore mouth. She drank greedily, almost choking on it and Bellatrix, slowly and gently, pulled the cup away, eliciting a feeble whine out of her.

'Don't be greedy, Muddy.' the Death Eater chided her but it was soft and gentle - and surprising. Suddenly it felt as if the two of them had just waltzed out of their characters becoming two very different people. She smiled weakly, trying to convey her gratitude towards Bellatrix and the woman simply nodded, acknowledging the notion.

'How do we get on about it?' Bellatrix motioned her head towards a bag that was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed.

She closed her eyes, thinking hard.

'I will require your help.' she said, her voice harsh as though she had been an avid smoker for the last fifty years. 'First - take off the top part of my dress.'

'You jest.' the other woman hissed immediately, her expressions shifting from almost worried to utterly furious 'I refuse to touch your body.'

'Look' she grimaced, disgusted by the very thought 'I have absolutely no intention in hell to get close to you - in any sense, but I do need your help with that darn thing. Just cut it off, alright?'

'Fine.' Bellatrix huffed moments later 'But if this is some elaborate plot to coerce me into unnatural activities, then-'

'I'd rather fuck Goyle than you.' she snapped, her anger getting ahead of her. Here they were, having another pointless argument. And their timing was utterly horrific.

'You have absolutely no sense of taste.' Bellatrix snarled, either insulted by the comparison or furious with something else, but instead going on a full-blown rant about how utterly disgusting Hermione's taste had been, she stepped away from the bed, put the empty now cup on the ground and began scanning the room as if looking for a missing item. 'Where's that knife?' she demanded few seconds later, evidently becoming already annoyed with the lack of results. Bellatrix's attention span was probably even shorter than her temper, Hermione pondered darkly, mentally trying to ready herself for Bellatrix's potentially disastrous participation in the surgery they were about to perform.

'Garter belt.' she almost snickered, imagining how this piece of information would rile Bellatrix up. But the her surprise and the older woman's honor, Bellatrix did not even say a word. Instead she merely rolled her eyes and pushed Hermione's dress up.

Instantly she felt odd. Here she was, bleeding and sweating, her infection inflamed and painful like hell, yet a single, given the circumstances absolutely not sexual gesture, aroused some most peculiar sensation in her stomach, some unknown feeling of immense warmth and some inner tingling, much live the very one she had felt ages ago when crushing over Ron.

Bollocks. Shite.

Looking up, she saw Bellatrix's eyes narrow with sudden confusion. The woman froze, one hand on the dress, the other reaching for the blade tucked behind Hermione's garter belt. Then there was a vivid blush appearing on the Death Eater's face, confusing instantly the hell out of the two of them. Mercifully the unsettling moment was broken momentarily, when Bellatrix visibly snapped out of her haze and reached down, pulling the knife out absolutely not in any way gently.

Things were back to normal. Good.

It had probably something to do with how delirious she was feeling, anyway.

Without saying anything, Bellatrix cut through the fabric of her dress, making a big rift that reached down to Hermione's abdomen, then, still silent and grave, pushed the dress off her. Then she licked her lips and looked Hermione dead in the eye, her onyx pools somewhat embarrassed or uncertain 'Does -'she cleared her throat and tried again, and this time her voice wasn't husky 'Does the lingerie -?'

'It stays.' she said and she did no better, her voice husky and hoarse as well. The entire situation felt far too intimate for their comfort. Luckily the discomfort would shortly turn, for Hermione that is, into a painful ordeal - and there was something far more natural about it.

Bellatrix visibly relaxed and straightened up, her eyes traveling across Hermione's body with some trace of curiosity in them. 'What now?' she demanded in her natural tone.

Hermione sighed heavily, ignoring the immediate outburst of fresh pain. 'First - clean the wound.'

'How?' Bellatrix cocked an eyebrow.

'The antiseptic. Hydrogen Peroxide. It should say so on the bottle.' she gritted her teeth, preparing herself for the sharp sting that was bound to come. She watched Bellatrix retrieve the bag and search it for the substance. Finally she straightened back up holding a small bottle with a white sticker on it.

'Good. Pour it on the wound and around it. Then clear it with gauze.'

'Gauze?'

'The white thingy I hope you bought?'

'Oh.'

Good grief, it was a bloody nightmare.

Hermione held her breath as Bellatrix opened the bottle, picked gauze up and started to pour the liquid on the wound. The moment it touched her skin, she almost moaned in pain. Smiling a little too cruelly for Hermione's liking, the Death Eater began cleaning the hole in her shoulder with a piece of gauze. Her every move was excruciatingly painful and Hermione had to chew on her lower lip not to cry out. That amount of pain meant one thing. Shit had gone down.

'See if there's an exit wound.' she mustered her tone composed and prayed there would be an exit wound.

'What?'

'Roll me on the side and see if there's a hole on the other side, for fuck's sake.' the outburst was mainly due to pain, not irritation, but she used the latter to mask the first. And Bellatrix was either absolutely oblivious to anything that hadn't to do with magic, or was being dumb on purpose. Neither helped her already flayed nerves and had not fever been forcing her down, she would have probably already smacked that God-awful Death Eater.

Bellatrix did as she was told and Hermione found herself nearly yelling out loud. Then, probably realizing how much her actions hurt, Bellatrix lowered her back down gently. 'No holes.' she said and she sounded almost sorry.

Well, lah-de-dah, I am fucked.

'Lovely' she said through gritted teeth. It had been a fool's hope but a hope nonetheless. 'You'll have to get it out.'

'No.' the reply was immediate and curt - and very, very firm.

'Oh.' she blinked 'Well, then I'll probably die.' it felt kind of stupid when spoken out loud, but the woman's treachery knew no limits and neither did her idiocy.

'No' the Death Eater repeated stupidly 'And don't act like I've hurt your feelings, Muddy.' she added in her infamous sing-song manner 'See, old Bella isn't that crazy.'

'Oh?' she cocked an eyebrow, absolutely livid. Here she was, stupidly trusting a deranged madwoman and here were the fruits of that trust.

'I barely know what I'm doing, so I'll probably end up killing you, which wouldn't be that a loss' she added in frantic whisper, her eyes widening theatrically, and the she pouted 'But you have your uses, hence I will help you - but you do the thing yourself.'

'What?' she didn't know whether she was more pissed off or more shocked 'And how do you propose I do that? When I can't see what I'm doing?'

'I will fetch you a mirror and hold it over you.' Bellatrix Black, the craziest of them all, grinned as though immensely proud with herself.

'Oh fuck me.' she sighed and Bellatrix giggled.

'I'll go and find you that mirror. Any specifics, deary?'

And thus they found themselves in a funny situations. Bellatrix had carried her to the bathroom, they had barricaded themselves inside. Hermione was lying in a bathtub that had seen its better days probably sometime during Harold Wilson's administration and Bellatrix was standing above her, a mirror in both her hands and a flashlight in her mouth.

It was a joke and a bloody bad one. Literally bloody, literally bad.

Fixing her eyes on her own reflection, Hermione brought the scalpel up. She took in a deep breath, her hands clammy with perspiration, and cut. She cut through infected tissue and saw a mixture of blood and something else pour out. And then the pain became unbearable, so she stopped was she was doing, closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

'You're doing fine, Muddy.' she heard Bellatrix's voice. The taunt was gone once again and replacing it was a soft and almost friendly tone.

She nodded fervently and opened her eyes once again. The bathtub was filling with blood, shockingly red against the yellowish surface. 'Fuck' she felt nauseous and maybe would have been bordering on passing out had the pain not been too sharp. They forgot the gloves and now her hands were covered with block and slick and she couldn't hold the scalpel too well, but she needed to be precise.

'Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.' she started mumbling the mantra as her hands once again rose and the surgical blade once again began cutting infected flesh open, blood and puss seeping out, the stench that came out of the wound almost unbelievable so she clung to the thought how did it become infected so fast instead of thinking about the pain or the awful picture she was seeing in the mirror.

Or Bellatrix's face, which looked positively green.

'Don't pass out on me.' she joked feebly, trying to blink away the tears of pain that were forming in the corners of here eyes.

'I wouldn't give you the pleasure, Muddy. Not ever.' the woman retorted smoothly but her voice was oddly thick, as if something was constricting her throat.

'Alright.' she smiled, licking her lips. Her entire frame was shaking now. 'Take the scalpel for now. Hand me the retractor.' Before proceeding with that joke of the surgery, she had taught Bella the name of every single thing they would use and informed her of what she was about to do. Since she could only access the front side of her body, she would start by searching for the bullet by opening the wound and, should she spot it, extract it using forceps. Where the bullet not in their sight, Bellatrix would take over and start the same procure, only that from Hermione's back.

Both of them hoped it would somewhere in the front, though.

Inhaling another shaky breath, she thrust the retractor and pushed the tissue apart. Exploding pain almost blinded her.

'Fuck me! Pisser! Shite!' she pushed it slightly further, her eyes closed 'Oh God! Oh my fucking FUCK!' She was panting heavily now, blood pooling in the bathtub. Pain was immense and huge and she had no will of her own to force her eyes open.

'Do you see it?' she croaked instead, but no reply came, so a pang of fury derived from pain struck her and she snapped her eyes open 'YOU FUCKING WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHITE, DO YOU SEE ANYTHING?'

But Bellatrix was ghastly green and looked as if she was about to pass out.

'BELLA!' she screamed, pain and fury mixing up together and giving her voice an edge so sharp she barely recognized herself. But then, miraculously, she saw it, in the mirror above her, illuminated by the golden glow of the flashlight, a bloodied, metallic tip of the bullet. 'Oh wow.' she gasped, a hysterical smile creeping on her face 'Gotcha!' She saw her own face in the mirror and almost dropped the retractor she did not know how to block in shock. Pale to the point of being chalk-white and almost shiny with sweat, random strands of hair glued to her skin, her lips dry and parched up and somehow bluish, while her eyes had sunken in and the pupils dilated so much her irises looked black, she resembled either a madwoman or a woman giving birth.

In a horror film, that is.

'Bellatrix!' she snapped, trying to regain the woman's focus 'I've found that piece of fucking shite. Hand me the forceps.'

But there was no reply. Muggle surgery, it turned out, was not a thing for Wizards who had magic and never had to cut anything open.

Pussies.

'HAND. ME. THE. FUCKING. FORCEPS.' she growled and so low her tone had dropped she sounded more like an animal than a human being. That, however, caught Bellatrix's attention and onyx eyes glued to her own, the distress in them palpable. 'Forceps.' she repeated and there was this glint of understanding in Bellatrix's orbs and suddenly she moved and handed her the requested item.

'Thanks.' she wheezed, adrenaline washing over and off her in an unsteady pattern.

She could vaguely remember reading the instruction attached to the retractor but could absolutely not recall how to block the device so that she wouldn't need to hold it. There was something about snapping a lock, but the more she tried to move, the more pain it caused her and the bigger the risk of slipping out it brought. Finally she managed to figure it out, there was a small trigger that had to be pushed so that the clasp mechanism on the spring would lock. She pushed and it locked and tentatively she removed her hand, ready to grab the device should it leap out of the wound. She held her breath and waited but it looked steady enough and so when Bellatrix, still green on the face, handed her the forceps, she closed her eyes, readied herself for another bout of pain, and inserted the device into the hole.

'Navigate me.' she told Bellatrix, her voice shaky as hell.

'Little left.' the woman responded immediately, her voice, as if on contrary, thick. 'Now open it. You're scraping it...'

And so she pushed a little lower and held her breath, grinding her teeth so hard that for seconds she worried she might have broken some.

'Clasp.' Bellatrix ordered, her face contorted with forced focus. 'Now pull it out.'

She never told the Death Eater what could happen next. Had the bullet been working as a tourniquet of sorts, the moment she removed it, she could bleed to death in moments. And so she closed her eyes, willing herself calm. If she were to die in the next minutes, she had to be a least minimally prepared for it.

'It might go wrong.' she heard herself voicing her thoughts 'In any case. Remember it's not your fault.' why was she telling this to Bellatrix, she would never know, yet she felt strongly compelled to do so. And seeing Bellatrix's puzzled and worried expression, she cursed her blasted honesty instantly and merely offered her a smile that resembled a grimace if nothing else.

And she pulled.

And the pain was like nothing before and bullet came out and yes, there were tons of blood now, but nothing bright, nothing gushing, nothing arterial. So she threw the forceps carelessly into the bathtub and removed the retractor and Bellatrix immediately handed her the antiseptic and more gauze and she cleared the wound once again and Bellatrix handed her suture and a needle - and sewing up a wound was a thing she had done thousands of times, so she merely stared at her reflection and put the items to work.

And then Bellatrix put the mirror away and personally cleaned the wound and then, under Hermione's instructions, dressed it and bandaged it - and suddenly it was over and done with it and she realized she was lying in a bathtub full of her own blood, lying underneath a woman she considered her mortal enemy, who was straddling her hips with the strangest of expressions on her face, and Hermione felt light-headed and suddenly chuckled.

And suddenly there was Bellatrix cradling her, burying her face in the crook of Hermione's neck - and what was even more shocking, she was reciprocating the hug and clinging to the Death Eater as if her life depended on it.

And they were both drenched in blood and absolutely dizzy - and suddenly they moved away, but only by inches and suddenly their eyes were locked and Bellatrix's were huge and full of some unspoken emotions that changed the color of the irises from onyx to chocolate brown and everything was surreal and Hermione's body was burning with heat.

And they were breath apart and she could feel the other woman's breath on her face.

And there was an angry knock on the door. And then furious pounding.

'I said: no funny business!' the old lady screeched on top of her lungs upon entering the bathroom that now resembled a slaughterhouse. 'And what da 'ell 'appened HERE?'

Well, truth be told, it looked rather ghastly. Overturned furniture, now broken in pieces, shoved roughly away from the door they had been barricading, a cracked mirror on the floor (where Bellatrix had dropped it carelessly), a bathtub full of blood, strangle devices, and finally Hermione and Bellatrix, the first pale and sweaty, her hair sticking out in strange places, half her dress gone and a very filthy bra almost sliding off her body, and the latter disheveled as though she had participated in a rather bloody sex marathon.

'I can explain it!' Hermione lifted her finger, smiled at the furious landlady, swayed on the spot and, unconscious, came tumbling down.

'So yew addressed a wound in me bafroom? Demolishin' i' while at it? Are yew bloody bonkers, da two ov you?'

'Would you rather have a corpse, lady?'

'Don't use what tone wiv me, lesbian. Not in me own 'ouse. Thee'll pay me extra an' 'ope ter God I don't scream fer da police.'

'Is that a threat? I don't take well to threats.'

'Well, darling, yew seem ter be da type that does not take well ter anything, so where's da problem?'

'Oh don't you test my patience, lady!'

Then there was a shout and a slap and Hermione sat upright.

Yes. The old lady had just slapped Bellatrix Black on the face.

Shite.

She was lying on some mole-ridden sofa in a room she could not recognize. Bellatrix, her face still turned sideways from the blow, was sitting on a chair by a small, round table. The old lady was sitting opposite of Bellatrix and suddenly Hermione a scrutinizing gaze bore into her. She watched the old lady watch her and suddenly realized that not only was she washed but also dressed. And despite being dressed in some dressing-gown, all blue and polyester, and with embroidery so abhorrent that almost repugnant (warped and huge and poisonously red poppies), she was clean and had had her clothes changed.

'Thank you.' she said and Bellatrix, who suddenly came to life, look torn between executing immediate vengeance and inquiring about Hermione's health. The latter won and the Death Eater cleared her throat.

'You came around, Muddy?'

'As you can see.' shifting her gaze back onto the woman, Hermione repeated 'Thank you, ma'am.'

And that word, that magical word had changed everything and suddenly the old lady, who probably had really been a whore, cracked a smile. And that smile was huge and beautiful.

'No problem, deary. But yaaahr lesbian friend is terribly rude, mind you.'

'I am not her friend! Neither a lesbian. Woman!' Bellatrix bolted from her chair and grabbed a fistful of her hair 'Honestly!' she looked accusingly at Hermione 'What is wrong with you people?'

'Lor' luv a duck! What's 'er problem? My name is Susan Trinner, by da way, dearie. Who are you?' the old lady looked at Bellatrix as if the latter had completely lost her mind (which might have been true, judging by how utterly astonishing the Death Eater looked, pulling her hair and her eyes almost popping out of their respective sockets).

'Hermione Granger, ma'am. And that's Bellatrix Black.'

It felt odd and funny and natural to play a member of society she actually used to be. That well-behaved, upper-class girl who played the piano and often went to the Opera was gone and would never return, that was certain, yet still she could play her.

Peculiar. Truly, how the world spins is a wonder no Man can comprehend.

'Pleased to meet you and excuse us for the awful mess we had made.' she added in afterthought and suddenly she noticed that even her accent had shifted, the familiar sounds of a proper Received Pronunciation bleeding in. Yes, being a Granger meant a couple of things she had forgotten about.

'Don't worry, deary. I'll 'ave Anja clean i' up in no time.' Mrs. Tinner smiled once again and looked at Hermione in that scrutinizing manner that felt terribly motherly 'Now, do yew need anything? Looks like a good dose ov antibiotics should be a good idea.'

Surprised, she cocked an eyebrow and the old lady snickered. 'It's not da first time I 'ave dealt wiv 'em gun wounds. Nasty fngs they are!'

'Right.' she nodded slowly and suddenly an idea struck her and she almost bolted out of the bed 'Mrs. Tinner, may I please use your phone?'

'Sure. I'll brin' i' ter you. Now, I'll 'ave Anja come in.' Mrs. Tinner nodded and added in afterthought 'Don't mind 'er, she's Russian an' speaks gibberish but she's a good girl an' she'll fetch yew 'em antibiotics. OK?'

'OK. Thank you.'

Anja turned out to be drop-dead gorgeous blondie who truly spoke some bizarre English. But she was pretty smart and soon reappeared with a healthy dosage of various antibiotics Mrs. Tinner instantly forced Hermione to swallow, arguing she might develop a sepsis should she skip a dose. Then she was allowed a phone call and she immediately dialed Draco's number. She informed him rather curtly that they were alright, skipping altogether the entire shoot-out wound-tending part and briskly told him they were going to Scotland next morning. He sounded pretty relieved and pretty annoyed, but in the end the first won and they said their goodbyes on a happy note.

Then Bellatrix dragged her back to her room and Mrs. Tinner promised them a breakfast (free of charge) the next morning. And then it turned out Bellatrix had completely forgotten to obtain some clothes for them.

And it was a single bed and Hermione had to admit to being claustrophobic. Bellatrix must have been rather worn out, because instead of a healthy bout of taunting, she merely shrugged and clambered onto the mattress, claiming the side by the wall as her own.

It was awkward like hell. The bed was too small. Hermione realized it the moment she tried to lay down. No matter what she did and how she turned, a part of her body would brush against Bellatrix's. And that irked the woman to the point where she finally snarled 'Stop twirling, you stupid, stupid girl!'

'Well, I don't want to touch you.' Hermione heard her own near-whining response and suddenly felt as if she was about to get sick. It was the meds kicking in. They had stuffed her, Mrs. Tinner and Anja, with so many pain-killers and antibiotics that there was a small medical battle raging her system. She had been given a rather borderline amount of Zamadol, lots of Nurofen, and, to top it all, a very illegal codeine pill.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions. And that was when she realized she was high.

'Why are you giggling?' a sleepy Bellatrix demanded and Hermione snorted out loud.

'Sorry, I'm high.' she gasped and Bellatrix sat up, blinking in utmost confusion.

'No, you're not. You're lying in a bed.' the woman finally said, a touch of finality in her voice.

'It's just a phrase, Bella...' she murmured, feeling more lightheaded then she ever wanted to. It was bloody ridiculous and she had better explained herself before Bellatrix freaked out. 'Listen. It's the drugs. I'm like -like intoxicated. Only that with those drugs. You see?'

'I see you're being weird.' the woman muttered slowly, blinking once again 'How do I unhigh you?'

'Just lemme sleep it out.' Hermione found, all of the sudden, the woman's grumpiness rather endearing. 'See, I will wake up and it'll all be gone.' Great. Now she was talking to her as one talks to a child. Bloody perfect. 'I'm just telling you' she added licking her lips, trying to suppress that silly fucking giggle that threatened to spill out of her 'this so that you know in case I do something stupid.'

'You already are.' Bellatrix sighed 'And you're acting like a five-year-old. And I just want to sleep.'

'I know, I'm sorry.' God, under the influence of an opioid she should have been drooling and nodding off, not acting like a teenager on their first night out. Bloody fucking ridiculous. 'It just works... different.'

'What do you mean? Are you fine?'

'Oh, I'm high.' she answered before she managed to collect her thoughts. 'Shite. I mean: I am, sure. It's just that they work a little different than I'd thought they would.'

'But you won't, I don't know, have a seizure?' the concern in Bellatrix's voice was probably mainly due to the fact, that should Hermione indeed have a seizure, Bellatrix would not only serve as her cushion but also as her drooling-spot. And that kind of concern was natural.

Yet Hermione's mind kept venturing off towards realms she had never before paid attention to.

'Fucking narcotics.' she mumbled and Bellatrix suddenly chuckled.

'Muddy, you're more trouble than you're worth. Now shut up and sleep.'

She woke up and found something pressing her down so she did the only thing she was used to and readied herself to strike. Especially that the ceiling she was looking at was unfamiliar and the entire room looked shabby enough to creep her out. But then she stole a glance to her right and saw a very familiar mess of black her that was currently obscuring her visions. Jigsaw fell into place and memories of the previous night's activities invaded her mind.

And that reminded her that she had booked a blood flight to Glasgow.

She pushed Bellatrix off her and almost fell out of bed. She needed to assess the approximate time and her location. And so, clad in that not fabulous dressing-gown she bolted out the room and crashed into something.

A man. A tall man with a mustache that resembled Friedrich Nietzsche's.

'Oh shit.' she said and then smiled 'Sorry, I mean.'

'Dad iz quait a'right!' he answered mildly, his accent so peculiar she instantly knew he was a foreigner. 'Yu ran laik a de-vil, miss.' the way he stressed the second syllable of the word "devil" had some ridiculously endearing quality and so she smile once again.

'Just freaking out about time.'

'Yes!' he said 'Taim is a trecherus fing! Yu do well to freekout a'boutit.'

Bloody hell, a philosopher.

'Do you know what...' she cut herself off, thinking about a better way the rephrase her question 'What's the time?'

'Clever question! Isit mind or matter? I dunnot know ze anserr!'

'Jean-Paul you leave da girl be!' an angry voice cut in and Hermione turned and saw Mrs. Tinner, livid as ever, standing on the top stair of the staircase, her hands resting on her hips. Then, when her gaze shifted from the man and onto Hermione, her eyes softened up and a small smile crept on her face 'What was i' yew wan'ed, dearie?'

'Hello, Mrs. Tinner.' the odd thing about manners was that her mother had, in the end, been right. Once you had them for good, they were impeccable. 'I was wondering about the time.'

'It's nine in da morning, dearie. Now, when was what silly flight ov yaaahrs?'

'In two hours' time! Oh.' with that she darted back into the room.

Rousing Bellatrix, changing into the clothes Anja gave them, eating a rushed breakfast and finding a taxi had proved to be a tremendous ordeal. Then she actually kissed Mrs. Tinner's cheek goodbye a promised to call, and then they were rushing through the city (she had promised the driver another fifty pounds if he got them to airport on time), Bellatrix holding to her seat for dear life, fear prominent on her face despite the Death Eater's best efforts.

Still bemused and slightly sore now that the drugs have finally worn off, Hermione felt as if she was suffering from the worst hangover ever. Reality was a blurry and distorted thing, as people and buildings zoomed pass the taxi window, she had the weirdest sensation of not belonging anywhere. Traveling through time indeed had proven deadly for one's sanity. And now that she was sick and wounded, everything seemed somehow sharper and more pronounced. And even the cheerful little songs that were booming from the radio did not alter her feelings.

So she did the one and only thing she knew and leaned back in the front-seat, checking from time to time on Bellatrix in the rear mirror, and started planning their next moves. Should they be lucky, they would catch an eleven thirty flight to Glasgow and probably arrive to their destination within an hour. Then they would have to rent a car a drive north, all the way up to Wick. The drive would take them about six hours, without counting in the time it would take them to leave Glasgow. They would be in Wick around eight p.m. and then, somewhere between Wick and Halkirk there would be House MacMhuirich, a rather drafty summerhouse of the Baronet MacMhuirich. And returning to the place she utterly loathed as a child was absolutely not overly high on the list of things she would gladly do .

Fate was merciful and they did make it to the airport on time. However, this was the moment her moderately good luck run out, as Bellatrix stoutly refused to board the plane - or a Muggle deathtrap as she most graciously called it. And since she had left their weapons with Mrs. Tinner, there was no way she could coerce Bellatrix into changing her mind. In the end she begged and pleaded and swore on her life people had been traveling like that for ages and it was perfectly safe to step into a plane, and Bellatrix kept stomping her feet like the most petulant child on Earth.

'I will tell everyone you were scared of a Muggle invention.' it was a low blow, in the end, that did the trick. Bellatrix was probably one of the rare few people who valued their pride over their lives. And so, pouting and promising to end Hermione should something go awry, Bellatrix Black, a notorious Death Eater, stepped into the unknown.

Their seats were placed directly by the wing, which was not very good, considering Bellatrix looked as though about to have a full-blown panic attack. Smiling falsely, Hermione ushered her into the seat by the window and promptly pulled the blind down and prayed to whatever might be listening at the moment, that a flight attendant would not find out about it and tell them to push it back up for the take-off.

'How does this thing work?' Bellatrix demanded, snapping her out of her thoughts. The Death Eater was fidgeting with the tray table, lifting it and stowing and then putting it down again.

'Do you mean the tray or the whole plane?' Hermione sighed and scratched her forehead. Going on a flight with Bellatrix Black was still a fresh concept to her and the entire operation felt downright unreal.

'Both, I guess.'

'Well.' Hermione licked her lips 'This is a tray table. You've figured out how it works. When on a long journey' she used this word instead of "flight" on purpose, for Bellatrix still had no clue airplanes actually flew 'the flight attendants, you know, the people in uniforms, give away food. Remember Hogwarts Express and the Trolley Witch? It's just the same, only that you don't usually pay for your meal.'

Bellatrix kept nodding her head and Hermione shot her a small smile.

'You see, compared to other means of transportation, airplanes are the fastest way to move around.'

'Oh. Faster than a train?' it felt like talking to a child yet there was something utterly adorable in Bellatrix's genuine curiosity.

'Sure.'

'A broom?' there was a hint of glee in the Death Eater's voice and Hermione suddenly didn't have the heart to tell her that yes, many many times faster. In the end she just shrugged and said 'You'll see. Now, shush your mouth. The flight attendant's going to do the introduction.' she indicated towards a middle aged Asian woman who was now standing in front of the passengers, her smile as broad as incredibly weary.

'Introduction?' Bellatrix's gaze was sharp and alert once again.

'Yeah. Just for people like you.' she whispered, shooting her another grin.

'Like me?' the Death Eater threw her a cautious glance, distrust pooling her eyes.

'You know' she leaned in and breathed against the woman's ear 'for people who don't have a clue.'

And that's when Bellatrix Black swatted Hermione Granger's shoulder, hence shocking the two of them still. Dumbstruck and a little stiff, they listened to the woman's instructions, Hermione observing the Death Eater out of the corner of her eye. She kept telling herself she was doing it to assess and address any issues that might appear, yet there was this annoying tiny voice in the back of her head that kept reminding her she was actually curious about the woman's reactions. After all, a first flight is a first flight, and her own, being a very over-dramatic flight to Istanbul for summer holidays, was unforgettable.

Mainly because it was the first time she had heard her own father scream like a little girl. Yes, plummeting down over three hundred feet within a moment does tend to elicit this kind of reaction even from grown men.

And then they were moving, queuing for takeoff and then they were on the runway and suddenly the lights in the cabin flickered as the engines drew all the power. Then their began their wailing and the plane was speeding, the louder the sound grew, the faster they moved. Something warm and hard gripped her hand, nearly squeezing it to pulp. Perplexed, she looked at Bellatrix.

'I think something has gone wrong with your Muggle deathtrap.' the woman said in forced calm voice, hinting between the lines that she knew it was bound to happen.

'Oh no, it's fine.' she grinned and knew pretty well it was a broad, shit-eating grin she deserved to have smacked off her face 'We're just -' but before she managed to finish the sentence, their feet were suddenly high 'flying.'

'Excuse me?' Bellatrix shot her a thoroughly dirty look 'Are you high again?'

'Push the blind up and see for yourself.'

There was a yelp as Bellatrix did as he had recommended and then the Death Eater turned to face her, her eyes round as saucers.

'How is that even possible?' she demanded angrily, her voice shaking slightly 'We're bound to crash and die!'

The last sentence was spoken a little too loudly and Hermione saw heads turn in their direction.

'First' she hissed to Bellatrix 'stop panicking. Second, it's safe.'

'I am not panicking' the woman began indigently but the the plane turned and the deadly grasp on Hermione's hand grew even tighter.

'You're going to break my bones.' she muttered 'Relax, we're just adjusting our coordinates or whatever.'

'Adjusting our what?'

'Never mind. It's safe, we're safe, now let go off my hand, please.'

As if burned, Bellatrix's hand jerked away. Hermione slumped in her seat and closed her eyes. She was still tired and her fever was already mounting up. Ignoring the Death Eater, she emptied her mind and immediately fell into an uneasy slumber.

She was brutally roused back to reality as the airplane began the landing procedure. Blinking groggily, she curse under her breath and fastened the seat-belt. Bellatrix was staring out of the window and, judging by her stance, she was still anxious.

Maybe she should have been more supportive. Maybe she should show more compassion. Maybe - there were too many maybes in her life as for now, so adding new ones was not indeed a smart move. And being a pragmatic, she let go off her misgivings and focused on what lied ahead.

They were outside the airport and standing by a phone booth. She had just purchased a pack of cigarettes and a phone card to call Draco. She was leaning against the booth, smoking and observing her surroundings, while Bellatrix shamelessly ogled each and every passerby. Truth be told, they were ogled themselves. It wasn't overly surprising as the clothes Anja had given them were pretty much Cindy Lauper in style. Her turquoise jumper clashed rather horribly with pink pants and sneakers that pretty much were a cheap imitation of Converses. Bellatrix fared no better, her long yellow dress giving her the air of a hippie that had somehow stumbled into a time machine. And while the woman was obnoxiously disinterested in the state of her attire, Hermione felt ill at ease.

'Hey, yellow lady.' she discarded her cigarette 'I'm going to make a phone call, OK?'

'Make a phone call?' Bellatrix repeated, genuine curiosity on her face 'I will accompany you, Muddy.'

'You really want to squeeze together in that?' she pointed, rather incredulously at the phone booth, but alas, that did not dishearten Bellatrix Black who nodded eagerly.

'Be my guest.' Hermione shrugged in defeat 'Just' she whipped around, pointing in the general direction of the woman's lips 'remain silent.'

'Fine.' Bellatrix pouted theatrically and added wistfully 'You're extraordinarily rude, Muddy. I fear I ought to teach you some manners.'

'Be my guest' she repeated, feeling a migraine set into her temples. It was like dealing with a child, petulant and deadly in equal measures. 'Just not right now, all right?'

After a short conversation with Draco, she asked for Narcissa. And upon hearing the woman's voice, she immediately knew the other one was mightily discouraged by something. They talked for sometime as she tried to figure out what had hurt the other woman in such a pitiful manner. It turned out to be sheer uncertainty. First startled by the banality of the issue, it took her several more minutes to comprehend. To put someone so used to following in charge was a step equally huge and profound and Narcissa was utterly petrified. Yet there was no more better suited than her. She wasn't rash and had the tendency to mull over matters. And while Hermione didn't expect anything too terrible to happen while she was gone, Narcissa would do brilliantly handling everyday issues. Of that she was certain and that she told her, stating she trusted the woman more than herself. The moment those words rolled off her tongue, she realized something was off. Turning wildly to locate the source of her current foreboding, she saw Bellatrix's glare. The Death Eater was staring at her with such contempt she suddenly felt as though she had somehow committed an atrocious treason, which was as unwarranted as absurd.

She missed Narcissa's next words thanks to that and had to refocus her attention back to the woman who was talking to her.

Something she has said made little sense, so she repeated the word 'Negotiate?'

'I'm so sorry -' the woman began as though she was about to burst out in tears and suddenly the pieces fell together and she felt a jolt so tremendous, she felt like cuddling the air out of universe.

It was brilliant and simple and perfect and so beyond her quite narrow perspective she would have never came up with something so smart.

'Don't be' she said, grinning like an idiot 'You know what?' her voice came out as a raspy gasp.

'Yes?' the response was so timid that Hermione, overcome with empathy, nearly choked on air itself.

'I think that you are brilliant, Narcissa Malfoy, and I could kiss you right now.'

As soon as the words left her lips, something struck the back of her skull with such force she crashed into the telephone, ripping the cable off.

'How dare you?' a voice close beside her growled and she turned, her nose bleeding profusely, to face a livid Bellatrix Black.

'What?!' she yelled because it was utterly ridiculous and downright absurd and she was mad 'What the fucking fuck?!'

'How dare you?!' the Death Eater repeated shrilly and another blow landed on Hermione's jaw and send her crashing sideways. Before she managed to respond, Bellatrix kicked the booth door off its hinges and ran outside.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she jolted right after the woman.

They sort of chased each other around the airport, drawing too much unwanted attention the themselves in the process, until Hermione managed to catch up with the woman and tackled her, bringing them down together to the ground.

'Are you out of your fucking mind?!' she yelled, pulling them up as soon as they were down. 'What the hell was that?!'

'How dare you say those things to my sister!?' Bellatrix retorted, forgetting in her fury to keep her voice down.

They were making quite a spectacle of themselves by now. Two oddly dressed women going through some drama in a public space, what could be more curious than that.

'Oh for fuck's sake, Bellatrix! It's not like I would act upon it!' she began explaining herself but in her anger she asked the first thing that passed her mind 'And even if so - even if I wanted to, what concern of yours would that be?'

And that was probably the worst thing she could have said, because Bellatrix suddenly became very still.

'You will not' the Death Eater began in a trembling voice '-you shall not -ever -think -of my sister - like that.'

'What?' her mind was spinning and pacing at million miles at hour and the next thing that fell from her mouth was a low blow 'Are you jealous I'm not thinking of you like that?'

'Are you mad?' the woman leaped away from her, her mouth twisted in terrible scowl, yet her face suddenly flushed with something that was not anger 'Why would I ever -? Jealous?' and with that she took off, head high up and the air of someone profoundly insulted.

'Oh damn you, Bellatrix Black.' she moaned and began once again chasing after the woman.

Well, of course. As shitty day went, this one proved to be a bitch of a kind.


	27. Of Absurd and Heroism

He dreamed of a sky on fire and ghost riders passing high above jagged mountain ranges. He dreamed of cities full of dead and birds of pray circling above them. He dreamed of willows and meadows and sleepy lakes and rolling hills, a countryside so sweet. He dreamed of Yorkshire and ponies and funny little Muggle farmhouses as seen from a distance. He dreamed of winding streams and butterflies and milk and honey.

And every time he dreamed of those things, his tears would rouse him up into wakefulness. He would sit in his makeshift bed and allow those tears to fall freely, knowing that darkness was merciful enough to hide his shame. And then he would ponder about his dreams, hastily applying any known Divination patterns to figure out what they could mean, but neither pattern made any sense. Sybil Trelawney's classes, however, made scarcely any sense though, and he was getting nowhere. It was wakefulness and lots of things to do, that brought him consolation he sought.

Draco Malfoy's life had taken a turn for worse. And no matter how hard he tried to find a scapegoat, in the end it were his own choices that brought this misery upon him. Dumbledore's words, those few things the old man had spoken to him on that fateful night at the top of Astronomy Tower, rang in his ears nearly all the time. I knew a boy once who made all the wrong choices. And however time distorted them, shifting nouns and changing adjectives, the meaning remained unchanged. Nor it ever would change, Draco suspected.

Oddly enough, in all those dire circumstances there were things - or rather: people - that somehow made life bearable. The steely resolve of Hermione Granger, her smile that could light up a room and the pain in her eyes that would always be battled by ironic gleams. The calm silence of his Mother, who indeed had suffered, probably more than he could ever imagine, her everyday strength that manifested itself in the smallest of things. Dolohov's ragged smiles and his raspy voice, all those things he would say when it was just the two of them. And, oddity of all oddities, Harry Potter and his passionate drive to do good.

There was some inane strength in all that suffering that encompassed them, inane yet profound on levels he could barely comprehend - and that was actually good. Broken and driven to the very edge of sanity, they stood their ground, despite everything, every spiteful thing reality would fling their way, they fought and clawed their way. And Draco found out that it, after all, was possible to draw strength from the losing side. Especially when the losing side was hell-bent on losing on their feet.

'So.' Hermione, Young Hermione as everybody called her, sat down on chair and neatly folded her hands on her knees 'How do we begin?'

There were four of them seated by the kitchen table: the girl, Harry Potter, Peter Quint and himself. Somehow Potter had managed to sneak into their research party but no one had any serious objections. As long as the boy did what he was supposed to do and stand guard, it was quite alright for him to participate in other activities.

'I don't really know.' Draco smiled apologetically. It had been another sleepless night for him and its effects were already taking their toll over him. He rubbed his face, trying to get rid of the utmost unpleasant sensation of sleep deprivation that made him cringe 'I mean, it's not like we've ever learned stuff like that in Hogwarts.'

'There has to be a way, right?' Harry Potter chimed in, his eagerness bordering on downright annoying 'I mean, we've found a way so many times before. Haven't we, Hermione?'

'It was different back then.' she murmured softly, her expression suddenly turning sour. She looked at Peter Quint who was drinking coffee and eying his cup as if it was the most fascinating artifact in the entire universe. 'It would require some sort of technology, wouldn't it? A tracking device? Peter?' she cleared her throat and Draco suddenly felt mightily pissed off with the man's blatantly rude attitude.

'Oh yes, yes.' the Squib nodded, still not bothering to look at her. Even though they were probably mere children in his eyes, there was no excuse for this sort of behavior and Draco felt compelled to tell the man off. But the problem was that he didn't want to sound like his snobbish self and it did tend to bleed into his voice occasionally. So instead of saying anything, he cleared his throat purposefully.

But it was Hermione who beat him off eventually.

'Mister Quint.' she stated in her most matter-off-fact voice 'It would be tremendously lovely if you spared at least some of your precious time to solve the problem at hand.'

'Do not think I haven't tried.' he replied grumpily, finally taking his gaze off the cup 'But I don't see how enrolling teenagers could be of any help.'

'Well maybe if you started to think outside the box, for instance. It would be quite a start.' it was a very polite way indeed to tell the man to pull his head out of his own ass and start paying attention. Draco snickered and Harry Potter snorted, their amusement suddenly a bonding quality. They shared a small, shy look and abruptly broke off the eye contact. Whatever had transpired did transpire however, and that somehow instantly elevated Draco's mood by a notch.

Peter Quint looked slightly uneasy at that and then went into a huff 'Very well' he drawled, casting them a grim smile that never reached his eyes 'how do you propose we begin?'

'And here I thought you were the expert.' Draco found himself saying and that uppity whine that instantly bled into his tone made him sick in the stomach. But no one paid that change any heed, as both Harry's and Hermione's eyes were glued to Peter, their contempt for the man mutual. The Squib blushed and shot him a thoroughly nasty glance.

'Oh for goodness's sake!' Hermione suddenly growled jumping off her chair 'If we are all going to act like children, let's just stop right now and go separate ways. And I'm sure Madam Malfoy will be more the pleased to hear we couldn't leave our personal issues behind closed doors and just deal with that stuff.'

'The thing is' Peter Quint squinted his eyes, a pained look suddenly crossing his face 'that we're dealing with a situation no one's ever dealt with. We wait for their next move and they're waiting for us and our. We're stuck.'

'You don't know how to begin, do you?' Hermione asked, her voice now hollow 'And that is the problem. We don't know where to start.'

'Yes.' the Squib nodded gravely 'We need assistance from outside.'

'Outside?' Draco repeated softly, an idea slowly dawning upon him 'We need to Muggles to make a move. And that's why we need Mother...' he broke off uneasily 'Their mutual contact is our only chance?'

'A trace.' the man acknowledged bitterly 'Without it, it's all phantoms and mysteries. And we need solid things. Analysis, tracking - the whole thing requires a trace. And you can't trace a ghost that doesn't even manifest its presence, can you?'

'So what do we do?' Potter moaned, his face once again sour as if he had eaten a lemon 'We sit and wait?'

'We sit and wait.' Quint affirmed 'We can disband, for all I care. Until they move-'

'What if we provoke them to move?' suddenly he was on his feet, a wild idea making his heart thud in his chest 'What if we fake some action? Draw them out?'

'How?' Quint sent him a look that was downright nasty.

'It's an idea.' oddly enough, it was Harry Potter who suddenly backed Draco. 'It's a good idea.'

'We flush them out.' Hermione repeated 'False intel?'

'What?' Draco sat down again 'What?'

'A double agent.' Hermione smiled 'Just like Snape did with the git. You know, someone goes out and joins the Muggles...'

'Someone -who?' Quint was curious now, his face alight with a small smile 'A stranger. A wizard that no one knows about. A Muggle-born.'

'She's too young.' Potter cut in with a sneer and added hastily 'In wizards' eyes she's of age. But in Muggle world... she's still a high school student.'

'Yes. No one enrolls teenagers.' the girl admitted, her face crestfallen 'We need an adult. Someone with an impressive curriculum vitae. You know, a UN worker, an analyst, an IT expert, stuff like that.'

And Draco realized they were speaking another language and it did not feel nice at all. The world had turned out to be a much bigger place than he'd previously thought. It was as scary as exhilarating. He watched as Peter Quint nodded eagerly, his face scrunched in deep concentration.

'Speak English, can you?' once again the tone of his voice was whiny and they all turned to look at him, their expressions varied, so he shot them a small, apologetic smile. 'I don't really understand.'

'A resume, you know, a list of your jobs and skills and such.' Hermione began explaining, the tone of her voice warm and slightly amused, something he would have found insulting not so long ago 'The United Nations, it's an organization of sorts that consists of most of the countries. You know, they make sure international treaties are respected and people are treated equally and such. Like, if you had a war between country A and country B, the UN would send a mission to stop the fighting, aid civilians and, maybe, hunt down those who committed crimes such as genocide. And IT... well, I can't explain that. It's complicated, it's got to do with Muggle high-end technology.'

'Oh.' that was all he managed to say and smiled sheepishly 'I'd never guessed your world is that complicated.'

'It's splendid in a twisted way.'

'Yes.'

They sat in silence for a long time, each of them probably pondering the mysterious ways of the world.

'How about' it was Potter who, in the end, spoke out first 'it's the older... it's' he looked at Hermione with a peculiar expression on his face 'You know, the older you' he smiled apologetically 'You know, we send the other you?'

'She's not here.' the girl said, the words coming out uneasy, as if she was feeling pretty uncomfortable with speaking of her other self 'And we don't know when they get back.'

'We can't do anything now, though.' Quint added hastily 'And she'd be a good choice.'

'They probably know about her, anyway.' Hermione said after a short while. 'We need someone... clean.'

And that was it. They were stuck and unable to do anything. The meeting ended and they headed their separate ways. Draco found himself wandering off to the yard. He sat on the stone stairs and looked at the houses. The sky was dark and heavy with clouds hanging so low it seemed they actually fall down on them. He chewed on his lower lip, his mind spinning with thoughts and plans and ideas. Whoever they would send, however, was either lacking the knowledge or the anonymity. Truly they were stuck and the time was ticking away. What they needed was a miracle. And miracles were not something that happened on daily basis. All they could do was wait for the inevitable. And it felt like being stuck in nightmare. You know what's going to happen and you have no clue what to do next, so you just wait and prepare for the worst.

'Want to go out?' a timid voice to his left made him turn wildly. Hermione was standing beside him, dressed in plain dark pants and a pastel jumper, a red scarf draped around her neck. 'I'm feeling stuck' she added in explanation 'and I hate that feeling.'

'Out where?' he tried to smile but all that came on his face was a distorted grimace, something pathetic and profoundly unfriendly and he chastised himself for it, feeling like that boy he used to be. But mercifully that did not throw her off. She looked at him, something odd in her eyes, something that pretty much resembled compassion and he almost blushed.

'I feel like a need to take my mind off those things. And I know of a cafe nearby.'

'Oh.' he gulped, his throat constricted all of the sudden 'Sure. But do we have any, you know, Muggle money?'

'As the matter of fact yes.' she shot him a small smirk 'So, do you want to come?'

'Yes.' he nodded eagerly.

'Good. Wait here, I need to get Harry.'

Oh. He was going out with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

Oh.

The cafe had turned out to be quite a pleasant place. It was pretty small and cozy, with orange walls and low hanging lamps. They sat down by a round table in the darkest corner, beside an ocher-colored wardrobe. Draco looked around, but the Muggles, mainly young couples, were ignoring them, too busy with themselves.

'I always liked this place.' Hermione shot them a small smile and Harry Potter nodded, looking at his friend with something that resembled intense fondness. Draco swallowed, remembering now what the other Hermione had told him. And that had him thinking.

There is an idea among people, the idea of true love, a touch of destiny, fate that binds two people together, regardless of time or the ways of the world. Should one be destined for another, they will neither find consolation nor happiness with anyone else. More so, people bound by such a force, should be always able to find one another.

And so he wondered, whether Harry Potter and Hermione Granger had always been destined for one another. It gave him the chills; an idea of a force so strong that it obliterated everything that stood in its way.

Or maybe he was just being naive, and the romance he thought was unfolding, was just friendship deep enough to create sincere love. And since he was no expert on neither, he was bound to make mistakes and take things for something entirely different. For maybe it was just as his Hermione had stated, that it was no fate and merely a series of dramatic events, that brought them together.

'Why so silent, Draco?' Hermione's voice snapped him out of his musings and he started and smiled timidly, knowing he must have been looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

'Sorry' he shook his head, embarrassment creeping on his face and manifesting itself in a blush 'I was just thinking -things.' it was as lame as it sounded and the blush deepened and he cursed himself and his pale complexion.

'Things, eh?' she was evidently enjoying herself. Yet her teasing lacked cruelty or any genuine malice. It was friendly and the mockery felt gentle. 'These must have been rather intense things then.'

Hearing that, Harry Potter, who had been looking at him with utmost suspicion, suddenly snickered, the glare dissipating in an instant.

'Fate and stuff.' he huffed, looking away to study a poster that hung on the wall beside. It was quite strange, not because it wasn't moving - as it ought to - but because of its style. A woman in the strangest of dresses, red and full of frills and ruffles, was kicking the air, revealing the blackness of her stocking. She wore a shapeless white hat and her reddish blond hair was flowing wildly. There was an outline of a musician in the corner, a man's arm holding the head of a double bass. She must have been dancing, something frivolous and possibly indecent - and the painter had caught that, had grasped a singular moment and petrified it for eternity.

'Ars longa, vita brevis.' he heard Hermione's soft voice and turned to glance at her, only to find her studying the poster with equal intensity. As though feeling his eyes upon her, she dropped her gaze and met his eyes. 'Art is long and life is short.' she added in explanation, her voice still soft.

'Yeah.' he nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

'With wizarding portraits you forget about that.' she continued, as though speaking mainly to herself 'It's different, they're different. They move and interact so you get the idea that they're alive. It's like they're still people, only that living inside the canvass. Here, it's different. She was a real person, you know' she nodded at the poster 'A can can dancer. Toulouse-Lautrec was so obsessed with her he kept painting her. I've seen his works at Musee d'Orsay, it's like... whenever you see a real portrait, you know, a portrait of someone who actually had lived sometime ago, it's like it's thrown right in your face that they're no longer alive, that they're mortal. That we're mortal. And that all that remains is just a portrait.' she finished sharply, tearing her gaze away from the poster. 'Sorry' she added sheepishly 'I guess the entire situation is actually getting to me more than I realize.'

'We'll get it right.' Harry Potter said immediately and even Draco, an outsider, felt it wasn't the right thing to say. Something else was going on here, something more profound that a mere threat, if only threats could be considered as mere.

'Some say' the girl smiled but the smile never reached her eyes and they remained full of sorrow 'that our mortality is a scandal.'

Draco couldn't help but smile in return 'Maybe they were actually right.'

'I don't know.' she admitted and cleared her throat 'Now, let's get ourselves something to drink. It's rude, you know.'

'Rude?'

'To sit in a cafe and not buy a drink.'

'Oh.'

In the end they all bought coffees. Hermione had called them latte. They were quite good. They sat in silence and sipped their drinks and Draco couldn't help but think of Hermione's words.

'So' he said, in the end unable to deal with what she had said on his own 'our mortality is a scandal. How so?'

She turned to look at him and her eyes were gentle and brown. 'You know' she licked her lips before carrying on 'we value our lives so much. But in the end we will die and death thus makes our endeavors meaningless. We can live with duality, happiness and sorrow are intertwined and each will come to pass, but we can't live with the paradox of life both so valuable and, at the same time, meaningless. This is the Absurd. And so the question appears: if life is so meaningless, should we not just kill ourselves.'

The silence grew heavy and Draco felt waves of nausea wash over him. He hadn't realized it until now, but he had actually felt it all they time. Nothing mattered, in the end they would all die and every action they undertook, everything they had strived for so hard would come to nothing. And that made him think of his Father and they way he had sacrificed his life so they he might live. But eventually, his Father's death would come to nothing, because you can't save someone from dying. All you can do is just give the person more time. So Lucius Malfoy's death had been in vain.

And that made him sick. Maybe, just maybe, it would have been better if the Killing Curse had killed him and not his Father.

'No.' Harry Potter suddenly spoke out and Draco almost fell off his chair.

Had the Chosen One read his mind?

'No.' Harry Potter repeated and Draco felt sick. 'I don't think so.'

Absurd as the entire idea had been, Draco let out of sigh of relief. It had been a weird coincidence, nothing more.

'What do you mean, Harry?' Hermione - and Draco realized with a start that the girl was actually severely depressed - looked at the boy with her brows furrowed 'Do we not all die?'

'Of course we do.' he shook his head 'But that's not the point. Yes, I agree the universe is cruel or indifferent and no matter how much do we suffer, there will be no consolation or anything. Of course we're alone at the end. Of course it's scary and of course life is terrible because it has to end.'

'So?'

'But that's not the point, actually.' the boy suddenly looked Draco dead in the eye 'It's selfish to think like that. We will die, yes. Accept it. Accept the fact that the universe doesn't give a damn and get over it.'

'What do you mean?' he found himself asking, whether in awe or annoyed, he could not decipher. His emotions were like a whirlwind now.

'It's not best living that counts. It's most living.'

'What?' Potter's words made no sense now. 'I don't understand.'

'Live the most. Not the best as in the most glamorous, the most comfortable or whatever. Live the most. Simply.'

It would be a low blow, he realized, but the words were out of his mouth before he managed to stop himself 'So what about your parents, Potter. Would you say they lived the most? Is it OK for them to be dead?'

'No.' the boy said softly, but there was no anger nor pain in his eyes. A green flame, as intense and calm, appeared in their stead. 'But they lived, Draco. To the point they loved so much they gave the most precious thing they had away.'

'And what's that?'

'Life, Malfoy. They gave their lives for love. Just as your father had done.'

They were sitting in silence now, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

'So, in the end' Harry Potter finally spoke up 'life might be absurd. But if you revolt against it, if you employ sheer passion to that revolt and embrace the fact that we're free - because the notion of death frees us from anything - you live.'

And thus Draco Malfoy realized why it had been Potter, who was the Chosen One. There might be no greater love than to die for others and there is no greater heroism to embrace injustice and tragedy and seek to make sense out of absurd, despite the fact that there will be no victory.

And he was OK with that. It was OK now.


	28. North

The obnoxious, filthy worm. She hated the woman. It was loathing, pure, undiluted loathing and nothing more.

Treacherous, untrustworthy, without any honor or dignity, that bitch had dared to go after her sister. She would have been fine with Dolohov, the man was a weakling and a bastard - but Cissy?

'Bellatrix! What the hell?!' the woman, that bitch, was chasing after her and had dared to actually sound exasperated. As though it had been her behavior that had caused all this.

'We won't be having this conversation, Mudblood.' she didn't even turn, her voice still shrill from yelling.

'Well then just stop!' the woman bellowed, obvious fury coloring her words.

And stop she did. Abruptly, angrily, Bellatrix Black came to halt and then turned to faced that scarred bitch. 'Very well.' she hissed, allowing all the wrath she was feeling to manifest itself fully 'What now?'

'What the hell is your problem, Bellatrix?' the woman halted as well, canting her hips and narrowing her eyes 'What the hell was that?' she made a wide gesture with her hands and then pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. Truly, she did look hilarious, dressed in clothes that didn't match in the slightest. She looked ridiculous and that nearly made her snort.

Treacherous bitch.

Bellatrix had to remind herself she detested that obnoxious, cheap bitch.

'I won't dignify that question with an answer.' she jutted her chin out and narrowed her eyes.

'Fine.' the Mudblood moisturized her lips and nodded in acknowledgment 'I'm no good with emotional things either. Anyway. Can we please work together? For now?'

'Is that an apology I'm hearing?' maybe, just maybe, she was provoking. Maybe, just maybe, she wanted the Mudblood to say those words and admit her maliciousness.

'Fine.' the woman huffed and suddenly began to sound as though she was appeasing a spoiled child 'For whatever atrocious crime I might have had committed, Bellatrix Black, I most sincerely now apologize. Should you demand satisfaction, I will accept any conditions.'

And that was it. The woman had the audacity to ask if she wanted to duel. And Bellatrix almost said that indeed, that was precisely what she wanted, but in the end, all she did was make a squeaky noise. The moment it left her lips, she felt like cursing herself into tomorrow.

'Muddy' in the end her reply came out meager and meaningless 'don't ask for something you can't handle.'

And that had the woman smiling, this broad, brilliant smile that made her eyes shine. And Bellatrix had no stomach for it.

'As you wish.' it was sheer mockery. Then the woman tilted her head, narrowed her eyes and smiled once again 'As of now... We need a car, don't we? We're heading north.'

'North.' Bellatrix nodded, eager to change the subject.

Yet it stung. It was a silly sensation. Something deep down inside her felt heavy, as though she had swallowed stones, and her stomach coiled. And every time her treacherous mind brought up random images of the Mudblood and her sister engaging into unnatural activities, her heart would pound and her palms would become sweaty and it hurt - and made no sense.

She blinked those images away and focused on the Mudblood and suddenly realized that in the pale light of autumn afternoon her hair had lost their blackness and those chestnut tones, those shiny, rich like molted gold, tones had reemerged. There was a gust of wind then and it toyed with her hair, those luminous tresses danced in the breeze, stroked the woman's face, and once again she pushed them back and away. And the sight was magnificent, in some inexplicable, tormenting manner. There she stood, clad in outfit so ridiculous, so skinny but so tall, her face marred and pale, basked in the cool light - and she was a vision, as inaccessible as a dream.

Bellatrix swallowed harshly.

'Are you quite alright?' the Mudblood titled her head once again, something that resembled concern passing through her face. The light was gone and suddenly the indescribable moment had passed. Bellatrix grimaced, at once disgusted with herself.

'Yes.' she snapped and tore her gaze away. Here they were, in the middle of some Muggle settlement she cared not for, and here she was, losing her sanity over someone's hair. Ludicrous.

'So.' the woman pushed smiled once again, this time, however, it was much more timid and less carefree 'We ought to find that car.'

'Indeed.'

'And we need to change.'

'Yes, please.'

'Oh - and I think I might need to visit a pharmacy.' with that the Mudblood turned and started walking and then and only then Bellatrix realized how pale and how sweaty she was, with dark shadows encircling her eyes and oddly sunken face.

And so she caught up with her, arguing in her head that her concern was based on partnership and nothing else, and demanded, quite harshly at that 'Are you sick?'

'Imagine.' the woman drawled, her tones suggesting she was quite not amused 'I did have a bullet pulled out of my shoulder, didn't I?'

She wanted to huff or display her utmost disdain, but in the end chose to remain silent.

Evidently, she was losing her touch.

The Mudblood led her to a place she called a car hire agency. While Bellatrix held back, scowling at everything in her vicinity, the obnoxious woman began conversing with a balding, greasy Muggle in an awful wooly v-neck vest. The man was acting strangely. He kept staring at the Mudblood, his watery eyes darkening each time his eyes focused on her. He kept rubbing his palms against his trousers. The woman paid him little heed, her head tilted and her eyes sharp, she was listening to what he was saying with great focus. The Muggle coughed nervously and that snapped Bellatrix out of her reverie. Fuming with something inexplicable, she made her way towards them. As though feeling her presence, the Mudblood suddenly turned her head and shot her a small smile, which she promptly ignored.

The Muggle cleared his throat, probably in an attempt to regain the woman's attention. And that had Bellatrix irked. She halted beside the Mudblood and looked at the man with open disgust. He swallowed nervously and the Mudblood snickered quietly, the corners of her lips twitching.

'Shh.' Bellatrix heard her whisper and glared at her.

Maybe the woman had actually been happy with that Muggle's sticky attention. That would suit her. An attention-whore. A pretty girl that craves admiration. She knew them, all too well. Back at Hogwarts. Those silly pretty creatures that walked in packs and giggled every time a male would ogle them. Snogging in corridors and changing boyfriends as frequently as a proper lady changes her gloves.

And that notion had her truly wrathful.

The Muggle stalked away, mumbling something checking something in a book. They watched his back. When he disappeared inside a small booth, the Mudblood exhaled sharply and turned to look at her.

'Bellatrix.' the Mudblood began, her voice slightly exasperated 'Please, I'm trying to -'

'I can see that.' despite her better judgement, she found herself snarling back 'You wanna bed it, don't you?'

'Are you bonkers?' the Mudblood's voice almost shook with indignation'I'm trying to negotiate a decent price.'

'By flirting?'

'Does it matter how?'

'Of course! You'd whore yourself -'

'Idiot.' the woman cut in sharply.

'Explain.' she was really angry now and so she turned to look at her and locked her eyes with the Mudblood.

Mistake. Those bottomless, oddly brilliant dark eyes were full of fire and cut like razors. She found herself drowning in those eyes, those cold, cold eyes that dug right into her.

Scary. Beautiful. Inhuman.

'I'm not trying to bed him. I despise him. He reeks and he's old and he's got a boner.' the Mudblood growled softly, the corners of her lips still twitching though 'I don't care if he dies during the next hour. But I want my car for less money than I'd normally pay. And if I am to obtain it by flirting with him, then so be it.'

'You're manipulating him.' the accusation felt ridiculous the moment she uttered it.

'Of course. Now, be quiet. He's back.'

The Mudblood was formidable, she agreed in the end. Quite as much as the Dark Lord himself.

And there was some strange likeness between those two. Same cold dedication. Same perceptiveness. And same coldness. Cold as though they were frozen inside, they would first come up with the plan and then execute it without any hesitation.

Yet they were different. His blood was pure and his ideas where grand, while she was just a sniveling creature that was born in a gutter.

And of course the Dark Lord had been right all along. They were all swine, those Muggles. Degenerate creatures crawling through dust and cesspool all their lives. In the end they meant nothing, their lives as crude as insignificant. Of course it was only right to deny their spawns the right of magic, the most sacred of all the gifts.

To be magical means to be special, a better creature of a better breed. The spawns of Muggles were pretenders.

And that awful, beautiful bitch was also nothing more but an impostor climbing a social ladder, a pusher, a whore. And Bellatrix had to remember that. She had to carve the notion into her mind so that in those moments of terrible weakness, those moments when she deemed the woman almost equal, she would remember it.

Otherwise all would be for nothing.

The Muggle returned, his face sweaty and a foolish smile playing on his lips. Those watery, small eyes of a boar were once again glued to the Mudblood's body. She smiled back at him, yet Bellatrix could see that her eyes remained cold and sharp.

'I have just a car for you, miss.' the man almost licked his lips greedily. His eyes were raking across the Mudblood's body now and Bellatrix felt like breaking his neck or shredding his jugular with her own teeth.

'Oh you do?' the Mudblood smiled once again and cast a sideways glance at Bellatrix, as though grounding her, ordering her not to move, not to react. 'Tell me all about it.'

And that he did. His voice quavering and his eyes almost drunk with lust, he started talking about the car. He kept rambling and rambling until Bellatrix could not take it anymore, her fury almost deafening her.

It was a different type of hatred. Of course she loathed the Muggles. Of course she despised the Mudbloods. But in case of this boar, it was something quite different, something more feral, more personal.

As though he was befouling something valuable. As though it was a blasphemy of some peculiar sort.

And that kept her riled, for she knew not what it was.

'Thank you.' the Mudblood's voice rang out, cold, clear, commanding 'I shall return to you shortly. I need to discuss it. In private. If you please.'

The Muggle nodded his consent and returned to his booth, something dejected about his posture now.

That awful, beautiful bitch suddenly turned to look at Bellatrix, her eyes dark and brilliant at the same time, an unspoken question shining in them, a promise, a mystery, a riddle.

'What do you think?' the Mudblood asked quietly, her voice a little husky and Bellatrix suddenly felt a faint shiver run down her spine. It had nothing to do with the paleness of the sun or the sudden coolness that came with gusts of northern wind. And neither was it fear.

It was something else. A promise, a mystery, a riddle.

'Of what?' it was defensive and sounded foolish, but she contorted her face and feigned her displeasure, but the Mudblood had apparently called her bluff, for instead of taking a step back, she advanced.

And so their shoulders were now brushing.

'The car. The man. The deal.'

'It's not my field of expertise, is it, deary?' she leered but it came out halfhearted. Actually it sounded as though she was afraid.

'Fine.' the woman stepped back, something resembling disappointment crossing her face. 'I think we'll take it then. Mister!' she called out and the Muggle immediately emerged from his booth, his eyes alight with something that almost looked like hope.

'We'll take the car. Thank you so much for your help.' the Mudblood was smiling and it looked almost genuine. That had the man smiling back, his eyes full of such longing as if the woman was his long-lost love.

Silly thing, desire. Makes us do things so embarrassing that it would be better to die instead. And the man was obviously and quite visibly very in lust with the Mudblood. She was, after all, quite young and rather great good looking.

And then it hit her and filled with sudden relief.

Of course the whole issue had to do with the fact that men were nowadays more interested in the Mudblood. Bellatrix had never been the one to admit to jealousy, but if she were, she would rather agree she was jealous of the woman's unmistakeably great good looks, jealous that the time that had passed was not merciful to her, jealous that she wasn't the queen of the ball anymore, rather all that, no matter how petty it was, than to say she was jealous of her.

Almost giddy with relief, she shot the Muggle her best smile - and once again it was ignored. Only the Mudblood noticed and suddenly Bellatrix found herself scrutinized by those dark orbs she had found so unsettling. But she was past that now, wasn't she? Finally her emotions made sense once again.

She needed to woo someone. Preferably someone the Mudblood was sweet on.

'- are you even listening?' the Mudblood's lips were moving, a frown creasing her forehead.

'No.' she admitted gleefully and watched the woman roll her eyes.

Soon, Muddy. Soon you'll see your youth isn't everything. I've always been the fairest of them all.

And yes, maybe it was petty, maybe it was much like it had always been with her mother, maybe it wasn't like her at all, but now that things made sense once again, she was dead-set to hold on to that idea. And, preferably, find a way to get one up over the Mudblood.

'Will you please pay more attention?' the Mudblood demanded and Bellatrix purposefully ignored her.

She thinks she's so pretty, doesn't she? And yes, oh yes, she can be quite appealing. But she's low-bred, a common bitch and, thus, cheap. Look at those cheekbones. Well, maybe they are refined, and well, maybe they could cut diamonds, but still. Low-breed, Mudblood filth, common girl. Nothing.

'Bellatrix, could you please explain what and why are you murmuring under your breath?' the woman's eyebrow was almost lost in the hairline, her eyes finally angry and Bellatrix almost cackled with pleasure.

'You're hearing things, little girl.'

That caught the Muggle's attention. He cast a quick glance at Bellatrix, allowed his eyes to roam her body for few seconds, but then, as though attached on invisible strings, his gaze returned and glued themselves to the Mudblood.

'Your mother's an angry one, eh?'

Mother. How dare he.

'Bellatrix' the Mudblood, her eyes glued to the road that stretched ahead, drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. 'please do not belittle this errand.'

'I do not.' the indignant huff sounded quite petty even to her own ears. 'I daresay, though, that calling this little trip of ours an errand is an exaggeration.'

'Will please hear me out then?' the woman repeated her question, her voice now timid and almost weary. 'Will you please pay attention?'

'Why, Muddy?' she snapped, turning to look at her, her eyes narrowed with the anger that coursed through her body 'Why on Earth would I bother? It's your little trip, your little family, why would that be a concern of mine?'

'Because' the woman sighed 'I fear that what we are about to unravel might be quite big.'

'Oh nonsense. Just because your uncle is a Muggle healer -' she started but the Mudblood suddenly turned to face her, her eyes oddly sombre.

'This is not just a family, Bellatrix. What you fail to understand is that it's not only the Wizarding world that has upper classes and families and secrets. The real world is a vast and scary place. We all play our little games, sometimes leading to results beyond one's imagining. Bellatrix, my family has a lot of skeletons in their closets. When my uncle sets his sight to something, he can be very adamant about it. Please, do not underestimate him just because he's a Muggle.'

'Do you think that sounding so ominous will change the fact that you're just a little Mudblood? An annoying pest.'

'I may be shite in your eyes, if that appeases your need for downgrading anyone who's not of pure blood, but it does not alter the facts.'

'And the facts are?'

'That this entire thing' she made a wild gesture with her left arm 'feels oddly large.'

'You make little sense, Muddy. Are you sure you're not delirious?'

The woman simply shook her head. They were traveling through an alien city, broad streets and thousands of Muggles, walls of stone and graying sky, it was all eerie and somehow enticing and Bellatrix suddenly found herself lowering the window and sticking her head out. There was cold wind on her face and her ears were full of alien sounds. She ignored the Mudblood, she ignored the possibility that she might look ridiculous and found herself suddenly happy.

And it dawned upon her that she could not remember the last time she felt so.

It was as though the whole world fell back. It was as though nothing had ever happened. It was as though the sharp, cold wind swiped all her memories asunder. And it was liberating, exhilarating and so vivid her entire skin tingled with an inexplicable joy.

Then the ride was over and the Mudblood pulled over.

'Clothes.' she said simply and stepped out of the car.

They entered a Muggle store. Bellatrix frowned the moment she stepped inside. There was some music coming from nowhere. Or rather: a vicious cacophony that instantly made her cringe. And then, to add to general misery, a tarty blonde with huge bosom appeared unexpectedly as though having Apparated. She shot them a smile that was as bright as false.

'Hello! How may I assist you?' her accent was thick and her voice annoyingly high pitched.

'We're looking for... A dress for my friend. And some things for me, as well.' the Mudblood's response was smooth and cold. Bellatrix watched the woman watch the blonde and suddenly she smiled. Muddy was definitely annoyed by the eager tart as well. 'We'll manage on our own, though. Thanks.'

'Sure. Holler if -' the tarty blonde tried to finish, but the Mudblood cut her off, her reply clipped.

'Thanks.'

With that they walked away, Bellatrix tailing behind the Mudblood.

It was spacious, loud and overly bright. And it stank. A sweetly combination of some cheap perfume filled the air, making it insufferably stiff.

'Let's make haste, shall we?' the Mudblood shot her a short look from across her shoulder, her face eerily pale in the brightness of the lights. Bellatrix merely nodded, happy with the idea.

'What's your size?' now they had ventured off to a dress section. Bellatrix squinted her eyes. Monstrous, frilly and disgusting those things were, hanging loosely in aisles, each as abhorrent as another. They examined pink ball-gowns that resembled attires worn by the women of the night, they snorted in unison when seeing revolting polka dots rags, they glared at revealing cleavages and weird cuts.

'Muddy, this place' Bellatrix whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips almost against her volition 'is like an inferno.'

'Trust me, it is.' the woman nodded, a smile of her own gracing her lips. And despite her paleness, despite the gauntness of her face, the smile was incredibly beautiful. And Bellatrix swallowed harshly, her senses suddenly numb with an unknown emotion that filled her chest.

And it terrified her, so she forced her gaze away and glared sulkily at yet another piece of rags.

All in all it was quite a harrowing experience. In the end, however, they manages to reequip themselves. Then Mudblood marched them to some place she called a public washroom, there they changed and discarded the clothes that the odd Muggle landlady had given them. Then they paid a visit to a pharmacy and Mudblood bought whatever she needed. Then she took some pills, then they bought some food (Mudblood had called it fast food, but whatever was fast about a greasy grilled sandwich with lots of cheese and some cheap bacon, Bellatrix couldn't fathom. Oddly enough that Muggle fast food turned out not only to be edible, but also quite alright).

And then they were set and driving and after an hour of being stuck in a queue of other Muggle vehicles (cars, Bellatrix realized grimly), they finally left the city and were heading north. The surroundings were changing abruptly, they were riding through a country so picturesque, Bellatrix kept staring avidly, watching the ever changing landscape. They were driving on a road that was, for some unfathomable reason, called A9, first heading north-east (which she did point out with a smug grin), then, after a city called Perth, they went straight north. And as hours flew, Bellatrix grew weary.

And bored.

And being bored was never good.

'So, tell me something about yourself, Muddy, eh?' she tried for umpteenth time, but the woman, who was resting her head against the palm of her hand, her elbow against the car doors, her gaze fixed on the road ahead, paid her no heed.

'What?' the Mudblood suddenly spoke out, her voice almost hoarse.

'I said: tell me something about yourself. You can't be that boring, now, can you?' she cooed, maintaining her trademark baby-voice.

'I heard you the first time.' the reply came quiet, as though the woman was struggling with something else.

All around them the day was coming to an end, the Sun pouring crimson rays and bathing the ground with eerie light, as though the entire world had caught on fire. Bellatrix fixed her gaze ahead, suddenly overcome with a feeling she couldn't name. It was much like foreboding mixed with genuine excitement. The vastness of the world had some exhilarating quality to it, and the road was almost addictive.

'Well then?'

'I don't know what to tell you.' the Mudblood explained casually, her voice still quiet though 'When I was ten, I wanted to be a doctor.'

'Really?' she turned to look at her 'Never would've guessed you'd have a healer in you, Muddy, not judging by how you act.'

The Mudblood never replied, something of a shadow passing across her face.

'My choice was taken away from me.' she finally said, her voice level and almost flat 'It's life, Bellatrix.'

'It's life?' she repeated, mockery bleeding into her tone almost despite her wish for it not to.

'Some things you choose, some things are forced upon you and some never happen. It's what my grandmother used to say. She was a wise woman.'

'Wisdom' Bellatrix smiled, once again looking at the woman who was driving 'They say it comes with age.'

'I'd say experience.' the Mudblood smiled, and Bellatrix knew the smile was for her, even though the woman kept staring right ahead.

Night was falling all around them.

'How are they?' the words left her mouth before she managed to stop herself 'Your family? The one we're about to visit? And what's your story? How can you explain you're... not you?'

'They haven't seen me in ages, Bellatrix.' she replied curtly 'They won't be able to tell difference. Despite the scars.'

'So it's been a long time, then?'

'Quite. I'm of age now. I can drive. They don't know about me being a Witch either. Road trip, I'll tell them. And you...' finally she turned and looked Bellatrix dead in the eye 'are my lover. Sorry, but there's no other -'

'I won't do it.' she snarled, her civil mood disappearing as though magicked away.

'Then how will you explain I'm driving with a woman that's' the Mudblood broke off, smiled and cleared her throat 'quite older than me?'

'Say I'm your companion?' the word couldn't leave her lips. Her face contorted, the grimace a show of sorts.

'And how did we meet? At some sports event? It's bullshit, Bellatrix.'

'So the easiest way would be to commit us to an unnatural relationship?' she was genuinely puzzled now.

Had the Mudblood no knowledge that even though such things did happen, no one of the society would acknowledge it publicly? Had she no decency? Was it common among the Muggles? It would figure, in some warped way.

'Is it so?' the Mudblood's gaze was fixed on the road once again, her face now encompassed by darkness.

'Of course.'

'Why?'

'Because it's unnatural -'

'Idem per idem.' the woman retorted, cutting in.

'What?'

'The same for the same. It's unnatural because it's unnatural.'

'You can take your Muggle logic and choke on it, Muddy. And here I was, trying to be civil. And what do I get?' she spat those words out, her fury suddenly stronger than she had expected. It felt like a threat, like a slap and like a challenge at the same time. And it was confusing to the point all she could feel was blind fury. She was never the one for theory, she loved her action and her fighting and her mission. All this, all this that the Mudblood was serving her, was cracking the world she had known at seams.

It felt larger and fuller and she hated it.

'I can't drive anymore.' the Mudblood broke the silence that had ensued an hour later. There was a road sign on their right. Bead and Breakfast it read. Before Bellatrix had any chance of questioning her actions, the woman pulled over and stopped the car.

'I thought we were in a hurry?' Bellatrix turned on her, her voice shrill. 'What are you doing?'

'I know' the answer was feeble and the Mudblood suddenly rubbed her face in an oddly groggy movement. 'Sorry' she added weakly 'It's just that -I might - pass out.'

She was about to rant and mock and tease the woman, but realized it was a genuine threat. So instead of doing anything of the custom, she stepped out of the car. 'I'll rent us a room. Give me Muggle money.'

She walked into a tiny cabin that stood beside a larger building. There was a glass wall and an elderly Muggle was sitting on the other side of a counter, separated by the glass. The woman was staring at something that was beyond Bellatrix's eye range.

'Woman!' she snarled, causing the other to jump in her chair. The Muggle turned to look at her, her expression most sour.

'What?' she snarled right back, her face contorting in a furious grimace that suddenly had Bellatrix take a step backwards. Had the woman be a Witch, Bellatrix would be readying her wand and bracing herself for a duel. Instead, she merely narrowed her eyes and stared back.

The Muggle, odd as it was, was absolutely unfazed. 'No one taught you any manners, tramp?'

'Excuse me?' as soon as she got her voice, Bellatrix growled, her throat burning instantly with its intensity.

'Not even a bloody hello?' the Muggle's eyes bulged in anger and her fingers began taping against the top of the counter 'What d'ya want, anyways?'

'A room for two.' had the Mudblood been less dying, Bellatrix would have already returned to the car and demanded they drove away. But Bellatrix was a considerate goddess, she knew when to take pity on those of the lesser breed.

Ah, the indignities she had to suffer for that Mudblood.

'Only a one-bed room left.'

Fate couldn't have been less merciful, Bellatrix decided but agreed nonetheless with the terms. She paid the money (shoved the entire lump of Muggle cash she had, forcing the woman thus to count it on her own), took the key and returned to the car only to see her Mudblood

-that Mudblood, of course -

\- sort of lying on that steering wheel device, her eyes shut and her face ghastly pale.

'Muddy.' she opened the door on the Mudblood's side, half-expecting the woman's body to fall out, half-unsure whether to let her fall or catch her. But the woman saved her from making a decision. She stirred, blinked, turned her head and shot Bellatrix a punch-drunk grin.

'You got it?' her speech was slurred and her smile was blinding.

Instead of answering, she merely pulled the woman out and forced her arm across her shoulders. Then she half-dragged, half-walked the woman into the building and up a flight of stairs. Mercifully their room was only on the second floor. She found the right doors, inserted the key, and opened the door.

It was small and shabby, but the bed was big. Not really thinking about anything else, Bellatrix kicked the door close, pulled the Mudblood towards the bed, only to trip somewhere in the middle of their journey, shriek and collapse on the mattress, the Mudblood right on top her.

'Get a grip!' she snarled moments later, suddenly fazed by the woman's heat and scent. And as the Mudblood rolled off her, a limp arm snaked around her waste. And even though she had every intention of shoving the insulting limb off her, she decided five more minutes of just lying wouldn't hurt.

And of course, before she managed to execute her plan, her own senses betrayed her.

Bellatrix Black fell asleep, her body flush against her enemy's.


	29. Lost Lights

It was, like her mother used to say, a dark place they were in. Whatever it was they were trying to find so hard, it kept slipping past their grasp. Like trying to hold water in their palm, they were left with nothing, only a sensation of wetness to bear witness to their failure.

Contacting the Muggles had proven to be quite the tricky task. In the end, Narcissa and Dolohov found themselves sitting idly in the kitchen, staring wordlessly at each other, lost in their own thoughts.

It was already late in the evening and the shadows had grown long. Somewhere in the distance there were rain clouds building up, an autumn torment slowly creeping its way towards them. Narcissa scratched her chin and looked in the direction of the window. She could see the neighboring house, the lights golden it its windows. That had her stomach clenching. She was reminded, as though the sight was a trigger of sorts, of her childhood and that peculiarly cozy, homely feeling that would grow within her the moment she would see those warm lights. When the skies grew dark and the air became chilly, autumn winds wailing and first droplets of rain falling heavily from above, those lights were the very symbol of warmth and safety. She loved sitting by the window, her back towards the fireplace, and watching the cold, cold world outside.

And then Samhain would arrive, the festive that ended up horribly twisted and renamed Halloween. Her mother would, however, respect the ways of the elder. They would prepare a feast, for days on end, House Elves would strain themselves with preparation. Then, on the eve of the first of November, all the guests would arrive. This night they would feast and talk of their dead, tell ghost stories and her grandfather would say that the night of Samhain is endless, as it belongs neither to this year nor to the next. A night when the thin veil between the living and the dead would be torn, a night when all the otherworldly places would become available to mortals, a night when one could find immense treasures. And then they would all go to sleep: every guest would stay for the night, as traveling was something unwise, with all the dead and all the creatures prowling the world. They would, however, leave fireplaces alight and leave food on the tables, leaving the doors unlocked would enable the dead to step into their home, warm themselves up by the fire and feast on human food.

And even though she would feel slightly frightened, she would revel in the sensation of being warm and full of delicious food - and would think of winding rivers and howling moors, of paths that ran through forests, of great kings of the past coming back to their land, of how cold and scary the outside was while she was indoors and safe and warm and loved.

Now, however, she felt nothing. Nothing of that sort. And even though Samhain was approaching rapidly, no one bothered with it. Indeed the world she had known had come to an end. And she felt desperately sad.

How do you live your life after everything you cherished and live for had come crumbling down? How do you carry on living if you have lost the very meaning of your life? How do you re-mold yourself?

And here they were, two strangers, each of them alienated by their own past. A shadow stretching between them, a certain shroud created by things they could never say out loud.

It was easier with Hermione. It was easier, because the woman was silent most of the time and her silence was oddly comforting. And every time Narcissa looked into those dark, hollow eyes, she could see something burning within. A resolution, passion, or something completely different, but something she could draw her strength from. And now the woman was gone, heading north, miles stretching vastly between them, a distance of fields, forests, water, roads and cities.

It was Dolohov, the low grumble of his voice, that shook her out of her musings.

'What do we do now?' he asked, weariness coloring his tone. She shifted and looked at the man, he was still handsome, in that rugged, thinned manner. He watched her watch him and smiled, a thin, pale twist of his lips and suddenly she found herself sympathetic to him.

'I don't know.' she admitted softly and suddenly she felt a pang of a powerful sensation: camaraderie. She was not alone. He was right there, with her, a cast-away stranded in a world so huge that terrifying.

'We must do something.' he said and it felt as though he was speaking to himself 'I'm so lost.' the admission was soft and almost broken and was so un-Dolohov. She had known a stranger. This man was different. Wearier and more honest.

'Yes. But what?' she shook her head slowly, once again thinking frantically.

But there was no one, not a trace to hold on to.

'Would you fancy a cigarette?' he asked all of the sudden and she looked at him with huge eyes.

'Excuse me?'

'It's a Muggle thing. Hermione's shown me.'

'Let's try it then, shall we?' she smiled almost despite her bitter mood and the smile was true.

'Let's head outside. It does smell a little bit.'

She almost snorted.

It was quite disgusting, truth be told. With the first drag, her head started swimming and her lungs burned. She coughed and spluttered and felt utterly ridiculous. But Dolohov never taunted her. Instead, he merely watched her with a small smile etched on his lips, his eyes twinkling with genuine mirth.

'It gets better, you know?' he said quietly.

'Do all Muggles do that?' she breathed at him, her eyes tearing and her cheeks burning slightly.

'No, I don't think the - whatstheirname? The Muggle family of that doctor? Walker? Walken?'

'Walker, I think. What about them?' she regained her equilibrium and took another drag, this time, however, it was tentative.

Think: pipe, she told herself as she inhaled.

'They don't, I don't think they do, at least.' Dolohov started rambling, his face twisting as a variety of emotions shot across his features but she froze.

Walkers. Or whatever their name was.

Muggles.

Muggle contact.

'Walkers!' she exclaimed, letting go off the cigarette. She almost leaped off the step she was sitting on, all dignity forgotten 'How could we've been that stupid?'

'Excuse me?'

But she ignored him, her mind spinning now.

'Walkers.' she repeated, throwing him a curt glance. He was looking up at her, his expression utterly befuddled.

'That is their name, or is this about something else?' he asked, incredulity coloring his voice.

'They're Muggles!' she almost shrieked, forgetting all about her lady-like ways.

'Yes.' Dolohov was genuinely alarmed now, his dark eyes narrowed with worry 'Did that ciga -'

She never let him finish.

'They're Muggles and the father was a Muggle doctor, working for that company, or whatever the hell this thing is called -'

He caught up with her now.

'They might know something?' Dolohov piped in, jumping off the step as well, his grin huge and blinding 'Do you think we can ask them now?'

'It's nearly midnight.' she observed, ever the polite person she had been molded into becoming. 'I don't think it's proper -' she started speaking, but the man cut in, his voice almost childlike in its ferocity.

'I don't care. You're a genius.' suddenly he was in front of her, his face stretched in the broadest, most brilliant grin she had ever seen. 'Narcissa Malfoy, you are the most wonderful woman I've ever come across. I adore you.'

And despite his grin and alleviated mood, she knew he was saying what he actually believed in.

And that had her off her guard.

'Don't be absurd.' she said after a moment, her Black upbringing forcing down her ice-queen mask. The joyful little Cissy was gone now, replaced by Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, a woman proud of her station and mindful about her manners. She stood straight and looked at Dolohov sternly. And her heart cracked slightly, when she saw the joy leave his face, as his shoulders hunched and he took a step back and away from her, she both wanted to call him back and tell him off. In the end she did nothing, letting him walk away.

'You're right.' he said, stopping on the doorstep 'It's too late. It'd be rude. We'll talk to them in the morning. Would that be acceptable?'

She wanted to say something else. Something comforting. Or, at least, bridge-building, for indeed, it had been her behavior that created the chasm between them. In the end, however, she merely snapped 'Yes.'

And with that he was gone and she was standing on stone steps in front of the house as autumn wind toyed with her head, all the happiness she had felt gone, gone with the wind.

Ice queens are proper. But they never get their happy endings. She paced around her bedroom. There was a crack within her, a crack that Hermione had created when appearing on the table - was it months already? - that time ago. And with each passing day, the crack grew larger and larger, leaving her shattered and utterly lost. And through the holes and cracks, all that she had been, was seeping out. And that had her asking herself about things.

And one of those things was Dolohov and ice. She did build a wall around her. Impeccable and distant.

The more people you love, the weaker you become.

Emotions, her parents would say, are a force so wild they bring people down. One ought to control their impulses, master their urges and never react directly. Matters were to be considered, responses were to be pensive and actions calculated. There was no gain in running rampart, only misery and humiliation. Nothing matters in the end, only family and its name. The only thing a human being should love, is their name, for within their name there lies everything that is of value. The rest is immaterial. To cherish feelings is to be a fool. Nothing is worse than an idiot who wears their heart on their sleeve.

And yet she kept losing. Losing life itself, wasting that precious time she had been granted - be it by a Higher Being or merely a coincidence that lead to her mother's insemination - on things that never brought her any joy, if she were to be honest with herself. Of course there was Draco, the boy she loved despite it being a weakness so great. But even though, even though she loved him, her actions had brought misery upon him. Her folly, her calculated, well-planned folly, had broken the boy. The moment he stepped upon the Astronomy Tower that faithful night, his innocence had been snatched away from him. And even though he, in the end, did not kill the man he had been set out to, the entire endeavor had left him shattered, a shadow of his former self.

So maybe they were wrong? But how, how on Earth, does one rise from the ashes? We humans, we're not phoenixes. We're frail and silly and life is linear and whatever you lose never returns to you. When it's over it's over and no amount of tears can ever return it.

How do you undo it all and learn to live? How do you do that when you're no longer a teenager, no longer a silly twenty-something that believes she's the master of the world? How do you do that when you have lived almost the half of your life as someone else and have buried your husband and sent your son to become an assassin for a man so vile no words could ever describe him? How, how on Earth are you supposed to do that?

In the end she never went to sleep. Tired and sour, she walked down into the kitchen, no epiphany to alleviate her spirits. And the first person she saw, was Draco, her boy, so pale, sitting by the table and looking at her questionably.

'Are you OK?' his question came out small and full of worry.

'Yes.' she smiled, trying to be tender but coming out twisted and saccharine sweet 'It's just that I couldn't sleep.' she tried to amend, but the damage was done and Draco looked away.

'If you say so.' he said, staring at the window, the hurt evident despite his efforts to mask it with indifference.

'I'm sorry.' she said, trying so desperately to build that bridge, to cover the distance, to undo the damage 'I'm tired and worried.'

He turned back to look at her, his eyes serious. 'I know.' he said levelly 'I know. We all are.'

It wasn't a dismissal, she realized after a short while.

'Listen, Draco' she began, not really sure what she was going to say 'I know... I'm- I'm lost. Even more than you.'

'Because you're older? And you followed him for the greater part of your life?' and that had her. She had missed the moment when that boy had become an adult. A wise one at that.

'Yes.' she admitted, trying to think of how should she say the rest of what had been driving her insane, but at that moment, they heard footsteps and turned to look at the doorway. A disheveled Harry Potter appeared moments later, his green eyes puffy and his hair unruly past the point of ridiculousness.

'Morning.' he said with a hearty yawn and the blinked, looking at Narcissa as though he was a deer caught in the headlights 'Mrs. Malfoy, I'm sorry.' his cheeks colored as his hands moved wildly in the air. Whatever he was apologizing for, she had no clue, so instead of letting the situation grow even more uncomfortable, she did the only thing that made sense.

'Would you like some coffee, Harry?' the name left her lips with peculiar ease. The boy started and looked at her with genuine surprise.

'Yes. Please.' he amended his blunder swiftly, green orbs locking with Draco's pale ones. 'Thank you.' he added hastily 'And sorry.'

'Do not apologize, Harry.' she realized she actually enjoyed how his name rolled of her lips 'Do you take milk?'

'Yes, please.' he sat down next to Draco and suddenly Narcissa felt as though she had two sons instead of one. One Lucius' and the other... dark haired as though Dolohov's. And that nearly had her dropping the kettle she was holding.

'Are you alright, Mother?' Draco looked at her questioningly, his eyes round like saucers.

'Yes, quite. Why?' it was a nervous stutter that gave her away, but he let go. Instead, he turned to look at Potter. Harry.

'So, what are the plans for today?' he asked the bespectacled boy, who, in return, shot him a smug smirk.

'I heard from Dolohov your Mum had decided to speak to the Walkers.'

'Clever.' Draco smiled right back and Narcissa poured them their coffees and sat down opposite of them.

'Do you think it makes sense, Harry?' she looked at the boy who blushed even more and suddenly she understood why was he blushing in the first place. Disheveled and dressed in rather awful - what were they called? Punchers? Punches? Boxes?

Boxers.

Anyway, the boy must have been feeling off, so under-dressed in the presence of the always impeccable Malfoys. Knowing the reason was one thing, helping the boy was another. She was lost. So she decided to ignore the state of his undress.

Or the fact that he looked like a skeleton clad in skin.

Which was quite an awful sight.

'I think it's brilliant, Mrs. Malfoy.' he smiled, maybe relived she never commented on the state of his pajamas. 'Would it be OK if Hermione and I came with you? Not that I -' he broke off, cleared his throat 'You know' he smiled, taking a sip of his coffee and instantly burning his lips. He spluttered and coughed and became beet-root, but neither Narcissa nor Draco batted an eyelid.

'You both are familiar with Muggles.' she finished smoothly for him and he nodded gratefully, his face contorted in a rather amusing grimace of pain.

'That's right.' he finally managed to say.

'We'd appreciate it, Harry.' she tried to be warm and motherly. She really did.

But all she managed to do was sound condescending.

Apparently though it was a morning of miracles. For neither Harry nor Draco batted an eyelid at her. It was as though they had all decided to readjust the previous night. And it felt... invigorating. Like one of those morning when the snow thaws and the sun is already high in the sky and there is this delicate, warm wind that smells of spring, of thaw.

And so, two hours late, Narcissa Malfoy, Antonin Dolohov, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger made their way through a Muggle neighborhood to pay a visit to a Muggle family. The rain was lashing down ferociously and the gusts of wind were bone-chilling cold. Indeed, winter was coming. They stopped in front of the house and Harry undid the wards they placed around the house. Hermione kept watch, Dolohov watched Harry and Narcissa shivered.

Not so productive, but quite an engrossing endeavor, truly.

The Walker woman - if that really had been her name - was a shabby little creature that looked as though she was spending her days now wallowing in self-pity and weeping all the time. Her face was blotched and her eyes were puffy. She had the looks and air of someone who suddenly stopped caring about the way she looked: her hair that probably had been fixed by a high-maintenance hair-dresser was now unwashed and unkempt, with loose and greasy strands sticking out in all the odd places, her body was suddenly gaining weight, what once was a careful mask of expensive cosmetics was now gone, revealing an aging skin and chubby cheeks, and her clothes never matched anymore.

She looked at them and blanched, tears instantly pooling in her eyes as though the very sight of them was a reminder of what she had lost.

'Yes?' she croaked out and suddenly Narcissa realized she had no words to say to this woman. She looked around and saw her companions, each and every one of them also at loss.

Her good mood leaving her abruptly, she forced a smile on her face.

'Mrs. Walker, we need to talk.'

The woman sighed and stepped away, letting them inside the house.

It was dark and smelly and messy as well. The woman's mourning was manifesting itself in the surroundings, a dark place, a gloomy place filled with moans and sighs - as depressing as helplessness could be.

'What about?' she never offered them a beverage. Instead, she showed them into something that used to be living room. Now, however, it was just a messy room. 'Sorry' the woman said, taking in her surroundings and probably seeing them through other peoples' eyes for the first time. There must have been something left of her former self, Narcissa realized when she saw an expression of discomfort showing on the woman's face. Soon it was gone, though, replaced by the bitter mask of self-pity.

'Your husband.'

That was a mistake and a dreadful one at that. The woman crumbled in front of them, not caring anymore about any social masks she ought to be wearing. She sunk down upon a stuffy sofa, her frame shaking and her face distorted in a grimace.

'Leave me!' she managed to stutter out, her voice so sad it was almost annoying to hear it.

She wanted to grab the woman by her shoulders and shake her out of that stupor, force her to think, force her to live again. But before she managed to, another person entered the room, a girl, probably Draco's age, her face rather simple and her features quite plain. She wasn't a looker, but the glare she send them was fiercer than anything Narcissa could have ever expected from such an uninteresting creature.

'What do you want? Don't you see you've upset my mum?'

'My poor babies...' the woman was wailing now, her arm reaching out and flapping around like a dying fish. Oddly enough, the daughter never walked towards her mother. Instead, she grimaced as though thoroughly fed up with her mother's behavior, and stared Narcissa dead in the eye.

'Well?' she inquired, her tone suddenly reaching a chilling temperature.

'We wanted to talk about your father.' Dolohov spoke out, oddly timid.

'Oh.' the girl shot her mother a swift look and then furrowed her brows. 'Would you follow me?'

'NO!' the woman shrieked like a banshee 'Don't you see?! Can't you see?! They killed him - it's them? How can you?'

'Mum, it wasn't them.' the girl sighed, exasperation taking hold over her entire exterior. Whatever sympathy she must have felt before, was no gone, replaced by utmost disgust.

'But it's because of them!' the woman shrieked and shook and shot her daughter a nasty look 'Don't you dare walk away with them! Comfort your mother, you ungrateful child!'

The girl swayed, obviously torn between what she felt was her duty - and something else. But before she gave in, Hermione Granger stepped in. She grabbed the girl's arm and gently walked her out of the room, the rest of the following them sharply. Draco closed the door, muffling the woman's wailing.

'Thank you.' said the girl 'Follow me to the kitchen.'

Oddly enough it was the only room that was quite clean. The girl closed the door behind them, walked to the fridge and leaned against it, canting her hips and tilting her head. Her watery blue eyes were sharp and piercing, their gaze oddly resembling Dumbledore's.

'Well?'

'We need to' Narcissa tried and cleared her throat 'Your father's research. What do you know of it?'

'All that I know' the girl said swiftly, something resembling shame coloring her voice 'is that it was vile. The idea was OK, but what happened - what they did to him - it was vile.'

'They? Who's them?' Hermione piped in and the girl shot her a sharp glance.

'The company. They're working with the government, you know that, don't you? On the outside, they're just part of the health system. You know, vaccines and pharmacy stuff. On the inside they work on bio weapons.'

'Bio weapons?' Dolohov repeated and the girl looked at him as though he was the dumbest person she had ever seen. And that had the sturdy Death Eater blush like a teenage girl.

'Sorry' he said, a cheesy smile playing on his lips, something Narcissa found suddenly endearing. 'I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed.'

'Happens.' the girl shrugged 'Bio weapons is like... like using viruses and bacterias and whatnot for military purposes.'

'What does the government have to do with that?' Hermione suddenly demanded, her voice much sharper than expected.

'Oh no' the girl shook her head 'they work with government on the official level. Medicine supply and stuff. But it's the agency that plays a major role.'

'The agency?'

'One of the MIs.'

'Oh.'

'Why?' the girl suddenly snapped, her eyes darkening as though furious 'Why do you need to know?'

'We want to bring them down.' Harry Potter said in his most serious and honest tones.

Anyone else might have sounded like an idiot. Or a liar. But the Golden Boy had the talent to make even the cheesiest of things sound heroic.

'I'll help you. On one condition.'

'What might that be?'

'You take me with you. I want to see them go down.'

'Fine.' Narcissa said immediately. Maybe it wasn't the smart thing to do. But it was right.

'Very well. I'll give you a phone number to Clarissa Marigold.'

'Wait!' she felt ridiculous now 'She's dead, girl.'

'Oh no. I assure you, she's not.'


	30. What Are You To Me?

Quick! Into the shadow!

The killer is swift. Agile. She kneels on the ground, eyes set, and watches the man. He's lean, his face is thin and his jaw is square. He would be average. If not his eyes.

They are grey. And cold.

So cold, the markings of the true hunter. The one who never misses, the one who knows no mercy. The one that is relentless and soulless.

They say, she thinks, evil is not born. They say a man has to fall before he turns to evil. But in some cases, a person is born with a certain lack. Be it empathy, be it emotions, whatever it is, it creates a monster. A monster that has indeed a name, but what's in this name?

A psychopath.

She watches the killer, watches his face and it is void and his eyes are cold and there is a little girl, a Hogwarts' students who's hiding in the shrub. Maybe eleven. Skinny, blond hair, pale face. A rather plain girl. They call her 'Palely'. She's heard other students call her name. And names as well.

Palely is whimpering, those huge, watery eyes of a small, friendless girl who maybe cries herself to sleep and maybe still wets her bed.

A twig snaps and her prayers are in vain. The hunter freezes and then turns. The movement is so slow. And even though she is in the midst of hell and the smoke is curling darkly into heavens, and Hogwarts is burning, and the impossible has just happened and nothing is the same, and even though there are screams of pain and terror all around, nothing else makes her shiver so bad. Her blood feels like ice.

Fear tastes putrid.

For she can foresee what is about to happen and it feels like a nightmare unfolding in front of her eyes. The hunter observes the shrub. She wants to move, run to the girl, grab the girl, save her. But fear paralyzes her. And so she watches. Unable to move, unable to walk away, unable even to avert her eyes.

The girl whimpers once again and the monster starts walking in her direction. His walk is steady, his back is straight. He walks like a man with purpose.

The girl, Paley, is frozen with fear. She grows even whiter, her eyes grow even bigger.

The hunter pounces. The movement is so sudden that almost goes unnoticed. He grabs the girl by the hem of her robes and pulls her out of the shrub. He holds her above the ground, his arm outstretched.

With another shiver she observes the girl pee herself.

And then the hunter smiles and his smile is so broad and so cruel it's like the very smile of evil itself.

He reaches to his waist and pulls a short knife out of his belt. He cuts the robe open.

She closes her eyes but she can't keep her eyelids down. An unknown force makes her eyes snap open once again. She is drowning.

The hunter throws the girl on the ground. She lays in a heap, like a discarded puppet. She never moves and her eyes are huge. And he looks as though he was wondering what to do next.

There is movement behind him. She forces her attention in that direction and sees a man make his way towards the hunter.

Neville Longbottom. The unlikely hero. Her heart races. Maybe it's not too late for hope. Maybe it's not too late for something major and unreal to happen. Maybe a man can change the fate.

The hunter remains oblivious, his stance relaxed and his hips canted lazily. He observes the girl, his face as impassive as a doll's.

Neville is close now. He lifts his arm, wand clasped tightly in his palm.

She begs whatever force that may be out there that he casts a killing curse. That the good guys will play by the baddies' code.

The hunter turns around, leaps forward and there is strange noise. A fountain of blood.

He steps back and watches as Neville's knees buckle, as he falls on the ground, hands grasping an open wound in his throat. Blood is seeping from his lips, coloring his teeth red. He makes a choking sound, then sounds like funnel. His body is jerking, his hands are tearing at his throat and she realizes he's drowning in his own blood.

She's never seen such a death before.

Neville pees himself. His body grows rigid now and his hands fall limp at his sides. The spectacle is over. The hunter turns back to the girl. He lifts her up and she whimpers and looks him dead in the eye and there is a moment, a singular moment that will hunt her forever. Innocence looks at the face of evil, there is no understanding there, merely a question.

An eternal 'why' of a victim.

But hate doesn't need a reason. Hate is as unconditional as love.

And he cuts her stomach open.

And she's not dying. She's making those odd movements. Pain or shock or simply some physical damage renders her voiceless. And their eyes remain locked and her agony is beyond anything a human being can handle without losing a bit of their very soul.

Those moments are the ones where you stand naked and alone and face the universe with its impeccable cruelty.

The girl can't die.

Her agony will last for hours. And together, Hermione and the hunter, will share those hours, something throughout and intimate between them, a moment that lasts eternity. The mute and mutual witnessing of an agony.

She woke up and there was a body on top of hers. Blinded and sick, she pushed it hard, shoving it off the bed. It fell with a thud and then there was an outraged yelp. Bellatrix Black, disheveled and furious, emerged from the floor seconds later, her hair in a mess and her face contorted with fury.

'What the hell, Muddy?'

She paid her no heed. Pelting to the bathroom, she collapsed on the tiled floor, bowing to down, resting her forehead against the tiles. They were cold and hard and were a consolation of sorts.

She had hunted him down.

She had beaten him to death with her very fists, watching as though from afar, his face slowly turning into pulp. But those cold gray eyes remained emotionless. As though that something that was missing from his soul, blocked him from feeling fear and stripped her of her vengeance. Harry had to pull her off from him. His head had turned into a pulp and her knuckles were broken and bloodied and she felt nothing but nausea.

Palely would never be avenged. So she went on a killing spree, murdering any Muggle she had come across. Her deliverance had come the moment she killed a Muggle child.

A girl she Crucioed and killed. An eye for an eye, a life for a life, a girl for a girl.

Now, crumbled on the floor, she found herself writhing, desperate to empty herself of all she was feeling but unable even to throw up.

'What the hell?'

A pair of strong arms encircled her waist, someone was pulling her up.

'What's wrong?' the voice, now, was almost tender 'Are you sick?' there was concern bleeding into every syllable and Hermione found some comfort in it. Like a child begging to be held, she pushed her back against the person's front.

Bellatrix. It was Bellatrix who was cradling her and the moment she realized what was happening, was also the moment she snapped back into reality.

The road.

North.

Undoing of the future.

She forced her body still. Taking a deep breath, one very similar to a breath someone who had been drowning takes, she shut her eyes, looking for any sort of composure within her.

'Are you sick?' Bellatrix asked once again, her arms cradling her, almost crushing her ribs. And it was pleasant, this uncomfortable sensation.

'No.' she managed to choke out, her voice hoarse and thick, thick like watery mud. 'No.' she repeated, clearing her throat and shaking her head.

She was in the bathroom, kneeling on tiled floor, as though praying to the toilet.

'Nightmares.' she added in explanation 'Memory nightmares.'

'I see.' Bellatrix's breath tickled her neck and she felt a wave of goosebumps spring all over her skin. 'I'll take you back to bed, alright?'

She wanted to revel in it, in the proximity of another person. It had been a long time now. To touch another human being in a non-aggressive way. To hold and to be held. She closed her eyes, basking in the woman's warmth.

Bellatrix smelled good. Like something both sharp and musky. Parchment, peppermint, roses - and something else, something that was entirely special. Entirely Bellatrix.

It struck her hard. She sighed heavily, bracing herself for what was to come next. Despite the inner voice that begged her to remain in the moment, she forced her eyes open and stared numbly at the floor.

'What time is it?' she asked, disregarding the offer. It came out both sharp and croaked, as though her own voice was torn between need and duty.

'Crack of dawn, I daresay.'

'Let's go.' she pushed herself away from Bellatrix and up. She stood, turned around and looked at the other woman. Her hair was wild and her eyes were charcoal black but brimming with concern. Soon, however, embarrassment would take its place, and when Bellatrix was in any way feeling vulnerable, she'd snap and revert to her aggressive ways. She had to act fast.

'Let's hit the road.' she added 'Just let me take a shower, OK?'

The moment -or whatever it was that had transpired between them - was now gone, replaced by awkwardness and enmity. Like all things between them, it was tit-for-tat, equivalent retaliation of ambiguous reactions.

'Whatever.' the woman growled, stood up and marched out of the bathroom.

Hermione sighed once again, an all-familiar ache crawling into the back of her head. She stripped, turned the water on and showered as though it was the most important issue in the world.

As water poured all over her, she pondered the mysteries of life. A man is always in the present. Past or future are irrelevant. One already cannot be undone, the other is always looming but never real. Only the moment existed and it was endless, stretching across one's entire life. Whatever a man does, it always happens now, whatever he just did, be it a breath he took and a blink of his eyes, it was already gone, in the past, irrevocable. Washing her hair, she stared idly at the water under her feet. Like all moments that came and went, it too, disappeared, its stream unstoppable and never the same. Right were the wise masters of old when they said panta rhei, everything flows.

And so only the moment held potential. Despite all that which had happened and could not be undone, all her trials and blunders and that hurt that never really went away, always looming at the back of her head, ready to pounce and attack, she had to pull herself together and live in the moment.

The sky was still dark when they hit the road. A sullen Bellatrix was leaning against the door, her gaze fixed sternly ahead. Stealing occasional glances at the woman, Hermione drove on, the headlights of the car cutting the darkness in two.

It was an eerie journey, pushing forward through a land invisible as though non-existent. But the sun was rising steadily in the east and shapes were coming into sight, as though the entire world was being created anew. Each dawn was a miracle of its own. And she celebrated it with all her might.

'We'll reach the mansion quite soon.' she said, finally breaking the silence. Bellatrix, however, remained mute.

'Will you be fine with acting as my lover?' the question came out almost timid and she smiled to herself, mesmerized by pink light blossoming in the sky.

'Fine.'

'I know it's not what you want. I know I'm not too comfortable with it either. But it's the only way.'

'I said already. Fine.'

'Do you know how to act as though you cared for me?' she stole another glance at Bellatrix who huffed, rolled her eyes and suddenly turned her face to glare at Hermione.

'Do you think I'm a child?' the Death Eater looked both bemused and annoyed.

'Nah' she shot the woman a small smile 'you're old enough to pass for my mother.'

It was a low blow, a lame attempt at levity and the reaction she got was the one she did deserve.

'Insolent Mudblood!' Bellatrix hissed but there was no genuine ire in her outburst. On the contrary, for a split second Hermione thought she had seen a shadow pass across the woman's face, a shadow that could very well be sadness. Or regret.

The woman did spend many years in a prison.

She chewed on her lower lip, suddenly embarrassed. She had seen the tapestry at Sirius' house. Young Bellatrix was a vision. The woman might have been insane, but she was no fool. Her looks were marred now, something once prized had been brutally snatched away from her, a bitter price for a harsh servitude to a master crueler than any man.

'I'm sorry.' she said, her voice suddenly soft.

'Don't be.' Bellatrix probably knew what the subtext was 'I willingly did what I did. And I would do it again.'

'I know.' she admitted, surprising both of them 'I know.'

'How?' the question was sharp and the eyes were piercing and dark and full of angry suspicion.

'Because you believe in what you do.'

That shut the woman up.

They drove on through early morning and its mists. The landscape was sharp and barren, jagged rocks and endless space all around them. Truly, a world's end at the world's birth. Something as pure and pristine as the creation itself. She inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling as though faced with something sacred.

'Would you?' Bellatrix asked, shattering the silence.

'Would I what?' she send the woman a swift glance and noticed how the rays of light bathed her face, cleansing it from all the lines and blurring the edges.

'Would you do what you did all over again?'

'Yes. And no.' she said without thinking and then furrowed her brows, trying to find the right words to convey what she felt 'I never chose any of that. It rather was the other way around. The situation chose me. And my mistakes are solely mine.'

'We all blunder.' Bellatrix was looking through the windshield, her gaze oddly soft and thoughtful 'Don't think I've never made a mistake, Muddy.'

'We all do, indeed.' she looked away and back at the road ahead. 'Some say it's the mistakes that shape us into what we are.'

'Do you believe it?'

'Yes and no.'

'Do you always give such answers?'

'Yes and no.'

With that she grinned at the road and out of the corner of her eye she saw Bellatrix do the same.

'You're a strange creature, Muddy.'

'And so are you, Bellatrix.'

'So you know, if we're lovers, call me Bella.'

'Bella.'

She sighed as she pulled in the driveway. The mansion was looming in the horizon, a solid block of stone against grayish sky. The moment she killed the engine, she could hear seagulls crying and the distant noise of waves crashing on the rocks. She inhaled deeply, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

'Is that a Muggle house?' Bellatrix's voice came rather small, as though the woman was deeply in awe.

She stole a glance and saw her stare right ahead, her eyes wide with disbelieve.

'Yes.' Hermione nodded, her eyebrow going up almost against her volition 'Why?'

'Surely there must have been a wizard in the family.' the woman shook her head, eying the mansion with suspicion 'It's impossible.' she breathed feverishly 'Muggles are filthy creatures. They lack culture!'

'Sorry to disappoint you.' Hermione found herself snickering slightly 'Come, love. It's time to meet the family.'

'Love?'

'A term of endearment.' she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Somehow, however, their ridiculous banter had alleviated her anxiety. It felt as though everything was going to be alright, in the end. And so she snickered and grinned crookedly at the other woman 'Would you rather be called a sweetheart? Honey? Or - wait - baby?'

'Go ahead and try, I dare you.' Bellatrix's lip thinned slightly, but her eyes remained... amused... for the lack of the better word.

'Baby.'

'I'm warning you, Muddy.'

'What are you going to do, baby? Pop an aneurysm?' the grin that was plastered on her face felt pretty ridiculous. She could almost see it, huge, brilliant, askew and goofy. Shaking her hear she gazed at the mansion looming ahead 'Beat me up in front of my family? Let me inform you: they won't take it easy.'

'Beat you? I am no Muggle, you idiot.'

'Strangle me?'

'Stop trying to be funny. Let me tell you: you're not.'

'Not funny? I see.' she snickered once again, her sore shoulder making her slightly delirious 'You'll get all huffy and silent.'

Before, however, she managed to provoke a reaction out of Bellatrix, the mansion door opened and a silhouette stepped outside. It was tall and thin and Hermione froze instantly. Even from afar she could recognize the man. Stepping out of the car, she lifted her arm and waved.

Here goes nothing.

'Hello!' she called out, forcing her tone cheerful and excited 'It's me, it's Hermione!'

The man picked up his pace. As lean and tall she remembered him, his hair had grayed but his piercing blue eyes remained the same: cold and shrewd.

'Hermione.' he repeated, a swift smile blossoming on his thin lips. He used to be very handsome. Now, he was too thin and too boney, like a strange living statue carved out of obsidian. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, his lips were dry and slightly chapped and the contact lasted seconds 'Heavens, my girl, I haven't seen you in years!'

'Uncle Robert.' she smiled at him and then motioned towards the car and Bellatrix, still sitting inside 'Allow me to introduced my friend, Bellatrix Black.'

She watched his eyes narrow as his gaze traveled in the woman's direction. Yet the smile that instantly reappeared on his face was as flawless as any diplomat's.

'Miss Black' he nodded curtly, his eyes keen. 'It's a pleasure.'

A very grumpy Bellatrix extended a hand. He clasped it, bowed gently and kissed her knuckles, ever the old school gentleman he had always been. She saw the woman's eyes widen slightly, but apart from that, Bellatrix remained surprisingly stoic.

'What brings you here, my darling niece?' the question was almost saccharine, but there was a noticeable hint of distrust - or displeasure - in his voice 'Not that I'm not glad you've arrived. Consider me surprised.' he amended instantly, probably noticing how he had sounded previously.

A gust of icy wind carrying the sharp sting of sea made her cringe.

'Do come inside.' he gestured at them instantly 'How about a nice cup of tea. Come girl, you must tell me all.'

The sitting room was as dark as she had remembered. Generations of MacMhuirichs were staring at them from the walls, each bearing an unmistakably sneer, a trait probably passed down over the years. With gaunt faces and cold eyes, those faces were as mean as they came. She could see it all: a dwindling line of once upon a time great lords who could not accept the changes of the world. And that had her thinking of Death Eaters and how much their words were alike. Had they the power, MacMhuirichs would have probably embraced the same path, channeling their worry into self-righteous contempt.

She chanced a glance at Bellatrix who was perched atop a heavy armchair, a teapot neatly on her lap. The woman was taking in her surroundings, her narrowed eyes being the only indicator of some sort of shock she was going through. Then Hermione looked to the Death Eater's right, at her uncle. He was observing her like a hawk.

'You know I've just graduated high school.' she said nonchalantly, praying silently he wouldn't ask which.

'Yes.' he nodded, the walls around him rocketing up. She knew the distrust. She knew he feared she would ask for something, a customary graduation gift, something he could not refuse.

'I'm thinking about applying to Oxford. Medicine.' she added in explanation, her voice even and smooth. A well-thought lie is almost nondeductible. 'You know, I'm traveling around the country, thinking about my life.' she shot him a small smile and a tiny voice in the back of her head sighed. This future, this bright ocean of choices was never hers. 'I was hoping I might speak to uncle Edward about studying.'

'Yes. That is very wise. And you're lucky, Hermione.' he looked relieved. The death grip on his own set of china loosened visibly 'Your uncle arrives tomorrow. He had some urgent business to attend to in London.'

'Oh.' she nodded, trying to act both puzzled and oblivious 'Medicine business?'

'Not that I am aware of my brother's actions.' it was a blatant lie, she could almost see it.

'Of course. How's Hunter?'

'The lad's gotten deaf.' her uncle shook his head fondly. Of all the things the grumpy old man had ever loved it was his bloodhound, a dog disgusting, vicious but fiercely loyal to its master, that stole his heart leaving nearly no room for anything else. It was just the two of them, two brothers, each alike in their bitter dignity, unloved and wasting away, dragging their name into nothingness.

And she knew it hurt them deeply. Neither married, neither had children. The lack of heir to the MacMhuirich clan was something her father would mention every now and then. Her mother would grow sour at the mere mention of them. There was some bad blood between families. How bad and why - she never really found out. And now she regretted. It felt as though there was a monstrosity of a skeleton in her family's closet. A skeleton, that despite being bone-well-dry, was starting to stink.

'I know you care for him deeply.' she said not knowing really what her next words should be.

'Jolly! Hermione! What happened to your face?' the elderly man suddenly noticed the scar. She sighed and saw out of the corner of her eye a very fidgety Bellatrix looking at her with some sort of an alarm on her face.

'Skiing accident.' she lied smoothly 'Actually, off-piste skiing accident.'

'Oh.' he nodded, visibly still not overly appeased with the story 'What happened?'

'Verbier.' she smiled, as though reliving a goofy memory 'Mind you, it had happened some time ago. I was going quite fast down a slope. It was pretty steep and rocky.' she smiled once again, her palms noticeably sweaty in her opinion 'I think what happened was that I was going too fast and lost control. I fell, the tip of my ski hit something hard, the thing broke in two and the loose part cut my face. Mind you' she smiled for the third time, still running the scenario in her head and trying to discern whether it was plausible or completely nonsense 'the doctors were pretty puzzled themselves. A weird case they called it.'

'I see.' the man's eyes narrowed for umpteenth time. Then his eyes traveled to Bellatrix, their expression growing more sour than before 'Miss Black' he said with the tiniest of smirks 'It's quite an interesting last name. Are you, perhaps, one of the Blacks?'

'Why of course.' the woman almost beamed, her expression suddenly very smug. She straightened on the armchair and send the man a smile of her own. It was genuinely smug.

'Blacks of Worchester? Truly?'

The woman's expression immediately fell and for a second Hermione was at loss. And that it clicked.

'Miss Black, Bellatrix' she added swiftly 'is of the Blacks of the Grimmauld Place.'

The man looked mightily puzzled 'Surely' he coughed drily, covering his mistake with a superfluous jeer 'I have never heard of any place such as this one. Would you be related to Edward the Black?'

Now it was Bellatrix's turn to look puzzled and Hermione's to feel sorry for the woman.

She let out a small laugh as though the man's jibe had been quite a funny joke. 'Uncle Robert, I see your sense of humor only grew sharper over the years.'

The barb worked perfectly. His mouth shut with an almost audible crack and he looked at her with a small sneer.

'Miss Black and you seem to be fast friends.'

'Oh, we're so much more than that.' she dropped the bomb and waited, holding her breath. She watched the innuendo strike home, watched his pupils dilate for seconds before heavy eyelids covered his eyes for a moment. He paled slightly and she waited, now nervous. Getting thrown out of the house would sorely mess with their opportunity to find out more about the list.

'I see' he said moments later. 'The de Granger blood shows its chimera head once again.'

She was honestly stunned now 'De Granger?' she felt like an idiot, repeating his words.

'Oh darling girl.' he bristled, his fury prominent now 'Do not think for a second my aunt and your grandmother lost her inheritance to a misalliance.'

'No?'

The clock chimed and she felt a cold wave of dread wash over her.

'Oh no' he smirked coldly 'in this matter your grandfather was more than well-suitable. A French baronet from Brittany.'

'So why?'

'He was a Roman Catholic.' he spat vindictively, his hatred raw and blatant. 'They are perverts. And now their depravity bears its fruit.'

She felt Bellatrix flinch. She knew hatred and narrow-mindedness ran deeply within her family. This, however, was a pinnacle of its terrible stupidity.

'But don't worry. Edward and I are working on a cure. We will rid the world of its plague, trust me. And we shall heal you. And reinstate you to your proper station.'


	31. Gravity's Backslash

'Marigold's phone number, really?' Harry Potter, the Golden Git, scratched his head stupidly. They were on their way back to their headquarters, his Mother and Dolohov in the front, followed closely by the three of them. Young Hermione in the middle and Draco and Potter on her sides like a faithful group of bodyguards.

'What's wrong with that?' he shot an annoyed glance at the boy, who merely shrugged in response.

'There's something dodgy about her.' he said with a sheepish smile 'Just a gut feeling.' A chilling gust of wind ruffled their hair. Harry shivered and thrust his palms deeper into the pockets of his trousers. 'Blimey' he said with a small cough 'it's getting really cold.'

'Winter is coming.' Draco sighed. Sometimes dealing with the Golden Duo - or whatever they called themselves - was becoming unbearable. With Potter always stating the obvious and Granger being the unrelenting know-it-all, he felt as though stuck in an absurd dream.

One of those that you wake up from both annoyed and amused and have no idea how to cope with reality afterwards. Like the one he had with Dumbledore and his Father playing chess... naked.

It scarred him for life.

'About that Marigold person.' Young Hermione chimed in and Draco fought against another weary sigh 'What's so dodgy about her, Harry?'

'I don't know.' he repeated stubbornly 'Just a gut feeling.'

'We don't even know if she's alive.' Draco felt obliged to point out, earning a scathing look from Potter and an annoyed eye roll from Granger.

Truth be told the Duo was as annoying as Crabbe and Goyle at their dumbest. And that indeed was something of a wonder.

'The girl was quite certain she is.' Hermione shrugged, draping the scarf around her even tighter. Her hair was flowing wildly in the wind and her cheeks were red from cold. 'I want to believe her.'

'If she's alive' Potter chewed on his lower lips, his glasses slightly askew and the tip of his nose bright red 'then there's definitely something amiss.'

'Why?' they were climbing the stone steps that led inside the house. They passed his Mother and Dolohov who have stopped by the door, evidently deep in a discussion. He could see her pale locks dancing in the wind.

'Because' Draco ignored a faint shiver running down his spine and motioned for them to step into the kitchen. Rowle was sitting by the table and drinking something from a glass bottle. Beer, he reminded himself. 'Because' he repeated slowly 'you know the story, right?'

The two of them nodded, Harry looking puzzled and Hermione inquisitive.

'It was an attack like I've never seen. And trust me' he blushed slightly, hating immediately his reaction 'I've hung with Death Eaters' he chuckled feebly, trying to alleviate the suddenly sour mood 'I've seen some vicious things go down.'

'So you're saying she had no chances of surviving this thing?' Hermione's brow flew up, much like her older self's when dubious 'Is that what you're saying?'

'Well' he hesitated, moisturizing his lips nervously 'I'd say those chances were pretty slim.'

'So she might've feigned her own death, yes?' now Hermione was being aggressive, her bushy hair sticking out in odd places, her cheeks ruddy and her eyes fierce.

He sat down, rested his elbows atop the table and exhaled loudly. He was developing a headache. He rubbed his face and looked back up, meeting Hermione's gaze. 'There is a chance of that, yes.'

'But why?' she blurted out immediately. Towering above him, she reminded him of a hag he had read about as a little boy. She, according to the tale, had a strong dislike for men and would torment them any available moment.

'Draco Malfoy!' Hermione's finger jabbed at his chest 'Don't you dare judge others! You, of all people, should think twice before that!'

'That's enough, Hermione!' Harry Potter's voice rang out, something of a cold command in his tone 'Let him be.'

'But he's being that judgmental prick once again. Mr High And Mighty Malfoy!' she turned to face her friend, visibly livid 'What's that, her blood's not pure enough for you?' she turned back to face Draco, anger burning deeply and brightly in her golden eyes.

He opened his mouth but no words came out. The attack was sudden and harsh. And yes, maybe he had been a jerk and yes, maybe the bashing was well-deserved (probably it was), but it still came out as a surprise. An unpleasant one at that.

He looked at Potter and found himself taken aback. The boy was staring at Hermione with obvious concern, probably shaken up as well.

'I'm sorry.' the words bled out of his mouth and effort to form them was exhausting. Three simply words he was brought up never to utter in the presence of a lesser being felt like an epiphany of sorts. Apology was never easy. It was both in his nature and nurture.

And that humbleness earned him a friendly glance from Potter. The Golden Git smiled a little bit, just the corners of his lips curling delicately, but that was enough. Draco felt as though he had done the right thing. No matter how idiotic or insignificant it had really been.

'I'll go to my room.' Hermione suddenly lost all her ire and looked from Harry to Draco with an expression of a deer caught in the headlights.

They watched her leave and then Harry eased himself on one of the chairs, his hair all ruffled up and his gaze blank.

'I think the entire thing is taking its toll on her.' the boy muttered sadly.

'It's tough.' Draco admitted levelly, uncertain how to proceed without starting another fight. 'Look' he stared Potter deep in the eyes 'I know you don't like me. And, just so you know, you have every reason to. I get it. And it's understandable she'd lash out on me some time. But you know, I've hung around the other Hermione for some time. I've seen how much it costs her. The whole time paradox thingy. It's probably driving them insane.'

'I wish' Harry spoke out immediately, his voice low and his expression grim 'I could send her home, you know? Make her forget all about it. But without her - and I know how selfish that sounds - we'd be all dead like a thousand times.'

'Man' Draco snickered suddenly, his mood once again pretty high 'you're the last person on the planet who gets to call himself selfish.'

'Was that a compliment, Malfoy?' Potter burst out laughing.

'Don't count on it, Golden Git!'

They snickered together. It was easy and immensely heart-warming, this sense of camaraderie. The dawn of friendship is always this moment when you're almost giddy with all the excitement you're feeling. And he missed this sensation, missed it thoroughly. He could still remember that fateful moment when he reached out to Potter, on the very first night of Hogwarts. His heart had been pounding in his chest and excitement was flooding him in a tidal wave.

But then the small, bespectacled boy had turned him down. Hurt and embarrassment hit him like a slap to the face.

And now here they were as though that tremendously dispiriting thing had never happened.

'What's going on?' a voice, high and demanding, snapped him out of his musings. Nearly jumping out of his own skin, he turned wildly and saw his Mother entering the kitchen. She had the smallest of frowns on her face, her eyes sharp and observant.

'Nothing.' he blurted out immediately, feeling as though once again he was thirteen and caught doing something improper.

'Just talking.' Potter added swiftly, looking uncomfortable.

She stared at them for a moment and then her face relaxed. She sat down by the table and glanced at Rowle. They had forgotten about him. And he was sitting in silence, merely enjoying his drink and staring idly into space, his brilliant eyes glazed over.

'Are you alright, Thor?' his Mother tilted her head and the man shrugged.

'Fine, Madame Malfoy.' he said hoarsely 'Just tired. Scabior hasn't returned yet.'

The atmosphere shifted.

'What do you mean?' she demanded almost harshly, her eyes widened in alert 'Do you think he might have gotten caught?'

'I doubt it.' the man answered lazily 'What worries me, though' he added darkly 'is his loyalty to our cause.'

'What do you mean?' Potter reacted immediately. Pushing his glasses back, he leaned forward in the man's direction 'Do you think he's double crossing us or something?'

'I don't know, boy.' Rowle shook his head slowly 'He's a good mate, but he's a bloody coward. I'd wager he'll choose to stick to the winning side. And hell, we haven't been very successful recently, have we?'

'Why did you split up in the first place?' his Mother demanded sharply, her eyes narrowed in cold fury 'I thought you understood that you're supposed to stick together.'

'Too risky. Too hot. We had to split up.'

'Not good.' Harry sighed heavily 'How late is he now?'

'Only an hour. It's not much. But if he's not back soon -'

'We need to send a search party.' his Mother finished slowly and suddenly emitted a sharp hiss 'This is a nightmare.'

'Madame Malfoy' Potter spoke out timidly 'maybe' he cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with what he was going to say next 'maybe it won't be that bad.'

'As much as I approve of your optimism, Harry' Draco could see how much effort had saying that last word taken for her 'I fear I don't share it. The circumstances are dire. Boys' she straightened up and pushed a silver lock back 'I talked to Anton about it, but I want to talk to you as well. Just' she furrowed her eyebrows and looked around the kitchen 'Where's miss Granger?' she asked suddenly.

'She went upstairs. She wasn't feeling good.' Draco explained calmly.

He could see the anxiety his Mother was feeling. Impeccable as always, the woman was almost unreadable to a stranger's eye. But he was no stranger and could see the cracks in her mask. The way her shoulders were stiff, the way her entire posture had gone rigid, finally, the way her pupils were dilated - he could see the alarm bleeding through those cracks. He found himself suddenly wishing that Hermione, the other Hermione was back and once again in charge, leading them into battle - or simply leading them. Comforting them with her rather silent presence.

Odd as it sounded, he felt safe when around her. Like they were going to be alright in the end.

'Shall I collect her?' Potter inquired with the smallest of frowns. He was also looking at his Mother, but the scrutiny in his eyes was almost tender as though he too could see her plight.

'No.' his Mother shook her head 'I understand she might be... coping.'

'It's difficult.' Harry nodded eagerly, his ears reddening suddenly as some thought had entered his head. Draco could see that, the split second in which it appeared. And it must have been something embarrassing.

Hermione had said that Potter and her...

It was an epiphany and it had him wonder about the glory of love. Maybe the Golden Git had suddenly realized how beautiful the other woman was. Maybe, after all, their love wasn't as doomed as she had said it was.

He smiled feebly and refocused.

'Have you decided to call this Marigold woman?' Harry Potter asked nervously. He seemed almost fidgety in his seat. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Draco bit hard on his lower lip and narrowed his eyes at his Mother, who was staring intently at the Golden Git.

'Yes.' she acknowledged slowly 'I know it's...' she stopped speaking and for moments looked lost in her thoughts 'I know' she resumed talking, her voice even albeit quite flat 'it might not be the best of ideas, but it's the only idea we've come up with. So...' she exhaled loudly and locked her eyes with Draco, who nodded in encouragement 'What do you think about it?'

'I don't trust her.' he blurted out almost instantly 'There's something dodgy about her. Talk to Hermione.' he smiled feebly and added 'I mean the older one.'

'She has no phone on her and I don't even know if she's reached her destination. And even if she did, I still have no means of contacting her.'

'Owl her!' Potter exclaimed suddenly, almost leaping off his chair.

'It'll take eons, Potter.' Draco sighed exasperatedly, the all-familiar uppity tones once again bleeding into his voice. He cleared his throat, quite embarrassed, and tried again 'I think time's very important in this case. Isn't it, Mother?' he glanced at his Mother, who was observing him intently.

'Indeed.' she nodded curtly and pointed at Rowle. 'What do you think, Thor?'

'She's the best shot.' the man mumbled darkly 'It's either this or sit and wait.'

'Ask Snape.' Potter chimed in once again, his eyes huge and shiny 'Maybe he'll have an idea.'

'I don't even know where he is, Harry.' his Mother pushed a loose strand of hair back again and her brows knitted together almost coming into a singular line. 'I think this is our call.'

'I think so too.' Draco nodded. 'Call her. But be careful. I don't trust her as far as I can throw her. Or even less.'

'So do I.' Harry Potter flashed the tiniest of smiles in his direction, his hair all ruffled and his expression almost eager. He looked so young, even though he was Draco's age, he resembled a teenage boy drooling over a sharp broomstick. Draco couldn't help but shake his head slightly.

'Call her.' he repeated firmly, tearing his gaze off Potter 'Just don't give her any information she might use against us. You know.'

'That I do.' his Mother stood up from her chair and pushed it back. 'I'll be back shortly. Let's call it a meeting. In two hours' time, alright?'

'Here? In the kitchen?' Harry Potter asked stupidly and blushed realizing how dumb he had sounded.

'Yes, Harry. Here, in the kitchen. Is there anything wrong with the location?'

His Mother nodded absentmindedly and straightened out her blouse. For seconds she looked unsure of herself and then excused herself out of the kitchen.

'No, Madame Malfoy.' Potter called after her, a sheepish desperation resonating in his voice. His blush deepened and Draco suddenly found himself unable to stop an impulse and kicked the Golden Idiot in the shins.

Harry Potter flinched, grimaced and for the tiniest of seconds looked hurt. Draco held his breath, waiting for his reaction. Finally the shadow looming over Potter's face dissipated and the boy shot him a small smirk. Instantly he felt relieved.

'I'll get you for that, Malfoy.' Potter whispered menacingly, his gaze, however, playful.

'You wish, Potter.' he sneered right back at him, his smile probably too huge to even pretend to be elegant.

They fell into easy silence. Draco watched the clock lazily while Potter rocked on his chair, his eyes glazed over.

'Two hours to kill, eh?' the boy finally spoke up, his voice full of utmost - and quite childish at that - boredom.

'Yup.' he acknowledged in a similar manner. Fingers drumming aimlessly, he watched the as the minutes drew on, as slow as only possible. Time, in the end, was a warped thing. Either it sped like crazy - like those moments when it's only an evening away from a big Quidditch game and you know you're going to suck so you watch the time and revel in the hours that remain until it's suddenly the next morning and you're forcing yourself to eat something even though your stomach is protesting quite viciously and then, in no time, you have to go out and into the cloakroom and put on that blasted Quidditch robe and you're out on the pit and crow is like a hydra: many-headed and loud - or drags so slowly you want to claw your eyes out.

'Hell.' he hissed finally 'Let's go out. Let's do something. Otherwise I might just kill myself, you know, just for the kicks.'

'Man, you're a piece of work.' Potter admonished but without any malice. 'Let's grab a coffee, how about that?'

'Fine. Whatever is fine. Shall we ask her? Gra- Hermione, I mean?'

'Nah' the boy shook his head after a short consideration 'When she gets all moody like that it's best to leave her to her own devices.'

They were putting on their coats and Draco tied a scarf around his neck. It was maroon. Bloody Gryffindor color. Like fate could be any less cruel.

'You know her that well, don't you.' it was more of a statement than an actual question but Potter merely nodded and they were out of the house and the wind was picking up and the air smelled of rain and autumn.

'I've known her for ages.' Potter admitted with ease as they walked down the street. The streetlights were on and the pavement looked syrupy golden in their light, and there was something oddly comforting - or nostalgic, he could never tell these apart - about it, like everything would eventually work out just fine.

'Yeah, I know.' he smiled at his own feet and felt a pang of something queasy, like regret - or maybe jealousy. He never did have any actual friends. Goyle and Crabbe, with their inane thickness and cruelty to match their stupidity, were nothing more than lackeys, two mindless shadows mirroring his every move. Not actual people you bicker with - or consult about something big. Anything at all, to be honest.

'She's like a sister to me, you know.' Potter added lamely and Draco stole a glance at him and the boy was blushing but whether is was due to the cold air or embarrassment, he could not tell.

'A sister, eh?' he asked trying to be gentle - and trying to push away the nagging, dreadfully painful memory of the older Hermione's confession.

'But you know' Potter suddenly stopped dead, his face contorted in something that resembled discomfort or fear and then those brilliant green orbs were glued to Draco's pale ones and the boy looked as though he was about to tell a secret 'Man, forget it.' he shrugged feebly and carried on walking.

'I know I'm no Weasel' Draco joked uncertainly, praying to anything that might be listening to him, that he wouldn't take it the wrong way and end up antagonizing the Golden Brat and his Golden Feelings or whatever these really were. 'But you can tell me, you know? It's not like I can use it against you. We're on the same team now, remember?' he chucked feebly and almost stumbled on his own feet when the reality of what he had just said came crashing down.

Indeed they were on the same team. The impossible had happened and they easily - surprisingly easily - fell into those roles.

'We are' Potter breathed out, the same befuddlement coloring his voice. He stopped walking once again, his eyes huge and shocked 'Blimey, had someone told me that, like, a month ago, I would've laughed my head off, you know. Yet here we are.'

'Yet here we are.' Draco smiled and it came out warped but he wasn't used to that sort of thing so in the end it was fine, it was the intent that mattered and Potter visibly did understand that, because he nodded curtly.

'So spill the beans, Golden Boy.' he finished with a small chuckle that turned out to be contagious and Potter snickered along.

'You know' the boy resumed his steady pace, fists deeply in the pockets of his trousers 'when the -' he broke off, licked his lips and murmured darkly 'Just so you know... If you dare as much as breathe...'

'I get it, I get it.'

'The older Hermione' Potter murmured, his blush prominent and quite ugly 'She's...' he almost stuttered and Draco felt a pang of sympathy 'She's real pretty, you know? Despite all these scars. And she's pretty, you know, cool.'

So maybe there was something like destiny. And maybe Draco wasn't the Cupid, maybe he mocked crushes and loved to tease anyone who came across, but this seemed genuine. And grand. So maybe he could play the matchmaker. Maybe that could make it up to Potter... and do something for that broken wonder he started to consider a friend.

She did save him. And she gave him the cigarette. And she talked to him and she was weary but stoic and she had saved his Mother and she had saved him, many, many times.

And she did deserve her happy ending and the Golden Boy did seem like one.

'Yes.' he said, aware he remained silent for too long now 'She's strong. And quite beautiful.'

'Yes.'

They reached the cafe but neither was willing to walk inside.

'So, you like her, Potter?' he was all business-like and brisk and hoped it was the right way to handle the issue.

'... Yeah...' the admission was mulled and almost pained when it finally rolled off his lips.

'What are you going to do about it then?'

'What?' brilliant green eyes were round as saucers 'She's like a sister, I told you - and she's older and she's not even...'

'They're not the same, you know.' he cut the rambling off, his voice level 'Give it a go.'

'But it's insane!' Potter almost stumped his foot like a petulant child, his ire rising like a tidal wave 'Besides... Ron fancies her... And I fancy Ginny, right? We hooked up last year.'

'Well, she's not here, is she now? How's the love story? Do you hear them, the wedding bells?' maybe he was being a tad too aggressive but maybe it was the only way.

'We had to break up... for her safety...' it was lame and they both were well aware of that. 'And besides... Ron...'

'The Weasel's not here. That's one thing. And the second... which one does he fancy? Her - or her?'

It came out so absurd they both burst out laughing.

'Let's head in, you git.' Potter caved in, a faint smirk adorning his lips 'It's cold and it's kind of lame.'

'Oh. I think we've passed lame quite some time ago.'

Scabior had returned when Harry and Draco were out. Now, all of them were cramped in the kitchen, awaiting in what could be called a nervous silence, for his Mother's return. She had locked herself in the living room, the phone pressed tightly against her cheek as she negotiated her terms with the elusive redhead.

The tension in the kitchen was palpable. A fidgety Scabior was drumming his fingers nervously until Rowle coughed pointedly, once again restoring silence. Draco inhaled deeply. Now they could hear the rain lashing outside and the howls of wind. Winter was indeed coming and this stormy, restless autumn evening was its true sign.

'Wonder...' Potter cleared his throat and tried speaking once again, his face oddly pale 'I wonder what she'll demand.'

'Do you really think she'll name a price?' it was as though a bag of question - the true Pandora's box - had been opened the moment the Golden Boy decided to break the silence. Rowle, being the one who reacted, leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowed and his jaw set.

'Of course she will.' Scabior sighed irritably 'Don't be an idiot. Everything comes with a price.'

'Not everything.' Granger cut in sharply, her eyes brimming with displeasure 'Some people do things-'

'Some people are naive fools.' Dolohov murmured darkly 'And even though' he looked pointedly at the furious girl 'it might be the right thing to do, to do something for free, there are not many of heroes these days.'

'I agree.' Potter nodded sternly. 'Hermione' he looked at her sheepishly 'we're not exactly in Gryffindor.'

'I know!' the outburst was sharp and, at some point, absolutely unwarranted 'But don't you see?' she stood up from her chair, golden eyes ablaze with a curious mixture of anger and hurt 'The more we hang around people like them' she gestured all around the room, encircling them all in a circle of mistrust and frustration 'we start seeing things the way they do.'

'Maybe because' Potter spoke out, his voice suddenly icy cold and almost regal 'they've seen more than us. Even Dumbledore did not things for free.' his eyes shifted to Draco and their gazes locked suddenly 'Even he' the boy added quietly 'always had an ulterior motive.'

'Aye' Dolohov piped in, his gaunt face almost sorrowful 'It's a wretched world.'

'Wretched or not -' Scabior began but in the moment his Mother returned to the kitchen.

Something was wrong. Draco could tell from the way her shoulders had gone rigid and her face had paled. There was something in her eyes as well, some anger or anxiety.

The silence that followed her entry was almost loud in their ears. They waited, breaths held and faces suddenly full of uneasiness, as she sat down and licked her lips. Her gaze wondered - until it locked with Dolohov's eyes. The man nodded and Draco suddenly felt immensely grateful for his presence.

'She demanded a price.' his Mother finally spoke out, gently as though she was talking only to Anton. As though they were the only two people in the room and Draco suddenly understood.

The man was her only friend. Now that Hermione Granger, the real one, the one who forgo all the illusions of youth, was gone.

'What is it?' Dolohov asked, his voice as soft as hers. He nodded gently, encouraging her to speak.

'We must kill the Dark Lord.'

The sat as though bludgeoned in the head.

The silence was eerie now.

He felt like fainting.

It felt like drowning. It felt like falling into a waking nightmare.

He felt like getting sick.

His head swam and his vision blurred. As though from a great distance, he hear someone talk. He shook his head, heart thundering in his ribcage and his palms sweaty enough to leave we traces on the table top. He rubbed his face and blinked, the world blurring and unblurring in front of his eyes.

Kill Him. Kill the Dark Lord.

Kill a man.

Kill a human being.

Kill.

Take a life.

Take another man's life.

Villain or not, it's a crime against the very nature.

'What?' he blinked, his mouth suddenly dry and his tongue too big for his mouth. 'What's that?'

Murder.

Like Burbage had died. Just like that. A lifeless body. Glassy eyes staring into the void.

Like killing Dumbledore which he could never do. Not in a lifetime.

Maybe he was a coward. Maybe death was too much for a spoiled little coward.

But maybe, just maybe, Draco Malfoy had learned that all life was precious.

Even the life of the greatest villain.

'He's invincible as long as he has his Horcruxes.' Potter repeated, his eyes glued to Draco and alight with concern 'Nothing can harm him.'

His head was spinning. Even the Golden Boy was alright with that. As though it was the right thing to do. Whatever it was, this right thing.

Is it alright to condone a killing of a man - even when it's to save the world? Is there anything that can justify a murder? If so, what is it? Who has the right to take a life when no one actually is capable of giving a life. You can't create a man the same way you can kill him.

It always take two people to make a life. And still, you don't create it - you merely use the laws of this world. You don't shape a man. You don't own his personality, his character. You have no claim on his conscience, the same way his life is never yours.

And you have no right to kill a man.

And he had learned it the hard way: if you a take an eye for an eye that's been taken from you, you end up living in the world of blind men. Even a justified killing still stains your hands and makes you a murderer and no matter how you explain your action to yourself, you can never undo it. You're a marked man, a murderer.

Oddly enough, ever since Hermione had saved him, he wished they would find a way to stop Voldemort.

Without killing him.

Just snap his wand and lock him in Azkaban. Or take away his magic and send him off to live as a Muggle.

Or lock him at a ward in St. Mungo's.

It was humane. It was right.

And even though desperate times call, or so they say, for desperate measures, Draco suddenly knew he would never justify a murder.

Some say you change over the years. Sometimes it's an epiphany when you face a life-altering moment that rips your character apart and creates something anew.

But sometimes it's small things and the tiniest of moments that change your entire soul.

And here he was, a disgraced son of a Death Eater, a spoiled little prince, suddenly realizing that indeed, all life is precious.

Always.

They were talking about something. He could hear voices, raised voices as people all around him discussed the task at hand. He blinked almost groggily and shook his head again. He could feel someone's burning stare.

It was Granger. The Mudblood - Muggle-born - was looking at him with something close to concern etched on her face. He tried to smile but it felt as though the muscles in his face were strained. The smiled turned into a grimace and the girl's eyebrows shot up as though she could understand quite well what his odd facial expression was trying to convey.

He swallowed harshly and refocused on the conversation.

Potter and Dolohov were arguing about something. Judging from their sour expression both were displeased with the other one.

'... -I'm telling you, we ought to ask her.' Dolohov snarled as Potter's face flushed scarlet.

'I am the Chosen One. I know what I have to do!' the Golden Idiot shot right back at the man. 'Dumbledore entrusted this task to me!'

'Yes!' Anton looked as though he was moments away from cursing the boy into tomorrow 'You've already said that a million times. We're not deaf, boy.'

'So why?!' it was a whine now. Potter was fuming and his voice was failing him.

'Harry!' Granger shot up from her chair, her hair in complete disarray 'SHUT UP!'

That outburst silenced the room.

And then Scabior snickered and winked at the girl 'Thanks, girlie.'

She blushed and sat back down.

'I'm just saying' she almost stammered as every pair of eyes fixed themselves on her 'Harry' she cleared her throat and nodded at the boy who was staring at her with a very affronted expression 'you might be the Chosen One. You are.' she amended swiftly 'But she's been with you -in the future -the future you...' she cleared her throat again, obviously very uncomfortable with the topic 'That means they've already...you've...we've already done it. In her timeline, that is. She'll know where we'll...we've... where they are. And how to destroy them. Be reasonable, please.'

'But the prophecy...' Potter whined 'It clearly said only I-'

'And probably it's only you who can do this, yes. But she'll know how or where.' she never let him finish the sentence 'Madame Malfoy' she turned to look at his Mother 'do you have any means... you know...?'

'No.' she shook her head slowly 'But an owl wouldn't hurt, I presume.'

'What if it's intercepted?' Rowle chimed in darkly 'That would put us in quite a precarious- '

'Yes' his Mother cut in, her tone brisk and almost cold 'But we also know our predicament is already...'

'Precarious.' Dolohov finished for her 'Shall we vote on that?'

'Yes, let's.'

In the end they all agreed to owl Hermione. Even a very sullen Potter did.

The whole room waited as his Mother wrote the message. It was quite curt. She read it out loud.

'Dear Hermione,

do you know where are His You-Know-Whats and how does one get rid of them? It would greatly aid our friends in the company.

Love, N.'

'Love?' Dolohov smiled at her and that suddenly alleviated any remaining tension.

'Well, she is a friend.' there was a faint blush on his Mother's face, however.


	32. Cruelty Is The New Goddess

Idly she sat in the living room of the mansion which felt so cold. Generations upon generation of sour-faced, sneering Muggles looked down at her from their respective frames which hung on the wall to her right. Flickering firelight kept casting eerie shadows, distorting their faces in an almost menacing manner. She almost expected them to move, to lash out on her and scream their self-righteous hatred. Yet they remained as they were, mute and motionless, their eyes as dark as hollow.

The man who kept calling the Mudblood Hermione, the man she herself had called uncle Robert, was sitting on the opposite side of a low, round coffee table. He was quite thin and quite tall, his frame rigidly straight. He had a long neck and a very sunken face, the nose sticking out like a broken chicken wing. His cheekbones were pronounced and jagged as though about to tear open the pale skin and his eyes were immensely silver.

Yes, he was handsome despite his age. Or maybe he would have been quite dashing, the very picture of nobility and grace this wretched world could offer them, broken children of an epoch that was dying away, save for the sneer that marred his face the same manner the Mudblood's scars marred hers.

Yet hers were more... maybe not pleasant, as only an idiot would consider a mutilation pleasant in picture, and she was no idiot by any means, but quite fine. As fine as a Mudblood's scars - or perhaps scars in general - could be.

The Muggle - uncle Robert - straightened even more in his armchair and glared at her, as though she was the scum of the world.

And Bellatrix Black was not the one to let a glare go unnoticed. Her jaw jutting up, she eyed the man levelly, an eyebrow shooting up in a challenge. But the Muggle was obviously dim-witted (or, truth be told, absolutely unaware of how dangerous she really was) and merely floored her with a very even and obnoxiously disdainful smirk.

For split seconds she wanted to attack him. Curse him, hurt him, slay him.

But she had no wand. And she had a job to do. So, in the end, she set for a condescending smile.

All in due time. The wretch would pay. All in due time.

'Uncle Robert' the Mudblood spoke up, her voice icy enough to be almost freezing 'pray tell me: what did you mean?'

His eyes shot back at her, his brows knitting themselves into a straight, grouchy line.

'Darling girl' he nearly spat, his cheeks paling significantly 'do not act as though you were a complete fool. Don't you really see how degenerate this world had become?'

'Degenerate?' the Mudblood repeated.

Bellatrix was torn. It was the same sentiment she had heard from her Father's lips, the eternal complaint about a death of an era. An era of all things right and true.

Yet it fell from a Muggle's lips.

'What do you mean by degenerate?' the woman rephrased her question and Bellatrix looked up and at her.

She was sitting beside her, her posture rigid and her shoulders tense. In the firelight her hair once again held its chestnut-red wine quality, its waves almost spectacular. Pulled back in a messy bun, it was in a slight disarray, with loose strands falling down in many places, a delightfully rich mane of untamed and gorgeous locks. Ebony white with refined features and slightly upturned nose, the woman looked both frail and excruciatingly beautiful.

And yet this malnourished, fragile beauty was probably the strongest person Bellatrix had ever met and suddenly she felt her heart pounding with emotion she could neither name or understand.

It made her weary. Suddenly she felt as though she was falling - spinning and falling - deeper and deeper into a rabbit hole that had no bottom. And there was nothing to either break or stop the fall.

The woman moved, as though sensing her distress - and suddenly those dark, shiny eyes were locked with hers, an unspoken question hanging on those shapely brows, a glint of concern in her eyes - and then the contact was broken and the woman tilted her head and watched her relative, her stance wary.

'Don't you really see it, dearest?' the Muggle's full lips thinned and curled in a snare that made his already too tight skin tighten even more - a frightening if not slightly appalling sight 'Deviants, low-bred scum is taking over the world!'

'Excuse me?' the Mudblood remained stoic even though Bellatrix could tell, from the way her shoulders stiffened even more - to the point it seemed the woman would strain a muscle in no time 'Pray tell me, what exactly is happening, uncle Robert?' the last two words were a real - and quite wrathful - snare.

It made her feel giddy. The Mudblood's display of violence - occasional as it was - usually was a sight to behold. Marvelous, that's how the Mudblood could be. A Fury descending from heavens, ready to tear and maim - a ready to obliterate the world with her anger.

'Deviants' the Muggle repeated darkly, his stance now somehow regal 'Men entertaining impure thoughts about other men - and behold: men enacting those atrocious fantasies. Women bedding other women! Parades of perverts taking over the streets. Europe, my child, the world we know, is crumbling apart.'

The Mudblood remained motionless and Bellatrix watched her watch the man. Predatory, that's how the observation was like.

'Is that it?' the woman finally asked, her tone icy cold and her expression stoney 'Is that really it?'

'No' he breathed viciously, something triumphant entering his voice 'Tis merely the tip of the iceberg.'

'Pray tell' the woman spoke out after a prolonged moment of silence, some peculiar levelness entering her voice - and that levelness had Bellatrix's hairs, the ones on the back of her neck and on her arms, prick and stand up. Something was wrong. Very wrong indeed.

'Now's not the time, my girl.' the man stood up abruptly - almost having Bellatrix attack him. He flicked his wrists and the joints cracked, and he straightened his shirt and toyed with his tie for moments, his gaze glued in a slightly greedy manner to the family portraits hanging on the wall - a sickly sight to be frank - 'We shall make the family proud. Prosperous, too. But proud. Trust me, child' that weirdly obsessed gaze turned to the Mudblood 'we shall make things right. It's good you've arrived.'

'Now' he added when no one dared to move 'I shall have Martha lead to your rooms. Come down for a tea at five. Dinner shall be held when Edward returns.'

'Tomorrow?' the Mudblood stood up as well and Bellatrix followed the suit.

'Don't worry' the man's lip thinned and curled once again, the mockery of a smile a prominent threat. 'He will come earlier.' Then the Muggle leered at Bellatrix and raised his voice 'Martha!'

A skinny girl with mousy hair appeared so suddenly she might have had Apparated. Bellatrix flinched and saw the Mudblood cock an inquisitive eyebrow. Her face, however, was still an impenetrable mask.

'Lead our illustrious guests to their bedrooms.' his finger crooked and pointed at the Mudblood 'And paid heed, this is the future mistress of the house.'

The woman bobbed a curtsy, her face suddenly flushed and timid. And it reminded Bellatrix - quite sharply, a pang of recognition in her chest - of House Elves and their submissiveness.

And so it seemed that not only they had their humble servants. While it was the creatures, beings insignificant and lowly, that served them, the Muggles had found ways to trap their own. It was both peculiar and exhilarating.

And disturbing. As though their worlds were not that different after all. She bit down on her lower lip, hard enough to taste copper on her tongue. Head swimming and thoughts spinning, she allowed the servant to lead them up a stairway.

Empty halls and shadows. The entire mansion had narrowed down to only those two ideas. Darkness and vastness.

'A colossal wreck.' she heard the Mudblood mumble and turned to glance at her. She looked displeased and weary - and almost sad, as though something about the building drew energy out of her.

'What?' it came out as a bark, sharper and harsher than she had intended. But the Mudblood never flinched. The damned woman merely looked back at her, her eyes almost black in the shadows.

'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings. Look at my works, ye mighty, and despair.'

Those word made no sense.

'What?' the Mudblood, clearly, was losing it.

'Shelley. This' the woman smirked slightly, gesturing around them 'this place reminds of Shelley.'

Bellatrix opened her mouth to ask about that Shelley person, when the Muggle maid stopped in her tracks.

'Miss' she said to Bellatrix, her voice timid and small 'this would be your room.' she pointed at door behind her. 'Miss' she turned to look at the Mudblood 'if you'd follow me.'

The Mudblood merely nodded, obnoxiously ignoring Bellatrix's indignant grimace. Without further ado, the duo passed her and walked on, the floorboards creaking ever so slightly under their footsteps. She hissed an annoyed breath and yanked the door open.

Oddly enough the room was not - in fact - as hideous or blatantly distasteful as she had previously imagined. It was very large, with a high ceiling and giant windows overlooking a cliff. There was king size bed with four posters, an ornamented wardrobe, a small bedside table with a lamp on it, a large mirror in - what seemed like - a golden frame, and a vanity mirror beside it.

Overall, it did remind her of home. The walls were covered with a green wallpaper and the carpet on the floor was brown and rich. It gave the entire place a grim air - grim, but also elegant.

She plopped on the bed and looked at her feet. A grandfather clock she had previously missed, was showing three ten in the afternoon. She had time to kill and no opportunity to explore the place. Feeling slightly more than just ill-at-ease, she shifted and then stood up. She marched briskly to the window, pulled the brown curtains back and stared at the view. All she could see, however, was the edge of the cliff and the sea. It was the color of lead or iron - gray and immensely cold. The sky was heavy with rainclouds - distant and sharp, the line between heaven and earth blurred in the distance, the two becoming one. And there was something eerie about the lack of horizon, eerie and frighteningly alien.

For the first time since Azkaban - or maybe even earlier than that - she felt alone. Truly and utterly alone, staring at an alien world from a house that was not hers. Her entire life had been dedicated to a purpose. First, the purpose had been the family itself. Excel and prevail, save the name and carry it forward into the world, like a notion of grandeur, with the burden of centuries chipping at her shoulders. Then it was The Cause. His cause. Whether it was about saving the world or making Him the master of it - she could not recall. Like the sea and the sky she was seeing, that line was blurred as well.

Now, however, she was alone. There was no cause she could claim as her own - and for the fist time in her life she felt obsolete.

Unless, that is, she decided to board the train of the Mudblood's cause.

But then - even if she did - she could see - or was it: feel? anticipate? - the connection between her youngest sister and the woman. It ran deep and was strong and she felt like the two of them could and would do quite well without her. They would see her as the troubled, unstable Bellatrix, a person you can't really trust because they don't truly trust in their own self.

And who was to blame?

The odd group of misfits was indeed a group. That much she could tell. They had their differences, of course, and those differences ran deep - unlike with the Death Eaters where each and every personality was mended and blended so they would be all alike, almost some kind of machines working for a single cause - but somehow they managed to stay united. And the person who was in charge, that peculiarly beautiful woman with a troubled past and cold smirks - and the glint of amused irony that appeared in her eyes every now and then - did not hold a whip - much unlike He did - and yet, somehow, managed to be truly a leader. An unquestionable leader.

And she could see - she was no fool and she had her experience - they would all follow her into the seven pits of hell - and even beyond.

That amazed her.

The heavy drape of clouds thickened. Suddenly, without any warning, with no hint of what was to come, the sky opened and rain started lashing down. A wave bigger than her predecessors crashed into the cliff, sending white specks of salty spit in the air. The wind picked up and there was a prolonged howl, sharp and fierce like a damned creature's from hell.

Suppressing a shiver she turned away from the window. Her ears picked something else that moment. She stood motionless and listened.

Someone was walking.

The door was kicked open. Bellatrix froze, ready to pounce at her attacker.

A familiar mane of dark hair and a pale face with burning eyes.

'Muddy.' she breathed. Realizing her heart was pounding in her chest, she took a tentative step backwards. The woman walked towards her, something alike fury in her eyes. Inches away, she stopped, her eyes boring into Bellatrix's. Such was their intensity, she gulped.

'What are you doing?' she demanded sharply, her voice yet breathless and giving her away.

'These people' the woman murmured heavily 'these people are monsters.'

'They're idiots, yes' she tried to scoff and shrug this odd thing was feeling off, but a hand, a warm and strangely soft hand that suddenly clutched her shoulder, stopped her. Mouth agape and blinking like a blinded man, Bellatrix froze in mid-motion, all thought disappearing from her head as though magically removed.

'They're no idiots.' the woman hissed in sharp whisper and Bellatrix felt her breath, hot that almost scalding, on her face and suddenly there was an entire swarm of butterflies in her stomach and her knees buckled - and she trembled. 'They're monsters. Clever, clever bastards.'

'Why?' she swallowed thickly, battling to regain her focus and thus dignity. It would be wise and proper to push that obnoxious creature away and leer her way out of the predicament.

She must have been weary, though. She never moved.

'It's all falling into a piece.' the woman whispered. Lowering her head and breaking the eye contact, the Mudblood stood still for a second. Then, once again lifting her head and locking their eyes, she spoke again 'Haven't you ever had the feeling like something was about to happen? Not a premonition. Not an educated guess. It's...' she licked her lips and Bellatrix's eyes suddenly snapped and glued themselves to those red, full...

Red, full - what?

Surely not lips.

'It's more like... like a sensation. As though you were about to find out about something huge.' the woman finished and, as though suddenly realizing how close indeed she had been standing, removed her hand and stepped back, something resembling surprise flashing past her face. 'Sorry' she smiled feebly, the smile never reaching her eyes which were now cautious.

The walls were back an up and sky-rocketing.

The place where her palm had been, was now tingling. Bellatrix had to battle an urge to touch the spot. To savor the warmth that was dissipating swiftly.

'Yes.' she gasped finally, unable to control her voice any longer. The Mudblood narrowed her eyes in return and Bellatrix saw her pupils dilate all of the sudden, an odd mixture of... what was it? Tenderness? Care? Or desire?... swirling in those dark, dark orbs.

There were specks of gold in her irises. Ones you could not see unless you were standing close.

The Mudblood tilted her head and, as though unable to make her mind, stepped forward once again. It was like a dance, like some ridiculous type of slow waltz, just steps back and forward, never permanent, never certain.

Another wave crashed into the cliff. Its sound quite ominous.

'See...' the Mudblood murmured, eyes huge and those soft lips half open 'even the sea is wrathful.'

She should have scoffed and mocked her. All she did, however, was gulp nervously like a silly little school girl talking to the boy she fancies. Ridiculous. Bellatrix Black was anything but shy.

And she did anything, but fancy the Mudblood. The idea was insane.

To indulge an unnatural craving, well, that was the fine line she would never cross. Obscenity and vulgarity of such behavior - yes, she had of course heard of that and her mouth always curled with utter distaste - was something no human being should neither observe, and not even a Muggle - most certainly - ought to partake in any such acts.

'The sea is wrathful?' she repeated dimly, instantly hating how stupid and timid she had sounded. She tried clearing her throat but somehow got stuck in the middle and spluttered, blood flooding her cheeks in a most embarrassing manner.

The Mudblood smiled. It was genuine and quite warm.

The butterflies were back - and in full sway.

'You're talking nonsense.' she tried snapping but it came out all wrong. Soft. Almost playful.

Disgusting.

'I never got to thank you.' the Mudblood, no, the woman, ignored the remark. She chewed on her lower lip for the tiniest of moments and then smiled once again 'First, for that surgery. And then, for...' her voice trailed off and her lips quirked 'The bathroom scene.'

'The bathroom scene?' she repeated like a village idiot. And maybe that's what she had been finally reduced to. A laughingstock.

A mockery of what being a Death Eater was about.

'Yeah. You know.' the woman's hand was raised again. She watched it travel in her direction and rest on her left forearm. 'You helped me. A lot.'

She wanted, really she did, to say something at least smart.

What came out was a gulp.

A gulp!

If fate couldn't be more cruel.

'So... thank you, Bella.' the last word, her name, was delivered so softly it felt like a caress.

She flinched. The rain was lashing the roof and the window with ferocity of a beast. And even though the room was cold, suddenly she found herself hot. Basking in the woman's warmth that was radiating off her body, Bellatrix merely nodded, her eyes glued to those brilliant dark-golden orbs. And then, as though against her own volition, her treacherous eyes traveled down and locked themselves on those lips.

Red, shapely, full. Corners still trembling with the faintest of smirks. Something absolutely new. And totally familiar.

Slowly, as though careful not to startle something wild, another arm encircled her waist and pulled her deeper in. Flush against the Mudblood's body, Bellatrix found herself unable to resist any longer. A trembling hand rose as though on its own and sweaty fingers touched the skin of the woman's cheek.

She was incredibly soft.

Bellatrix almost exhaled with a hiss. Her hand shaking violently now, she traced the woman's jawline, the tips of her fingers traveled higher and higher until they touched the immeasurable depth that was the Mudblood's - Hermione's - hair.

'What are we doing, Muddy?' her voice was breathless and quivering, her panic as powerful as this pull she was feeling.

The woman, this Mudblood, this idiot, this Hermione merely quirked her lips a little more.

Bellatrix caressed those messy tresses and they felt like liquid silver. Plucking the remains of her courage, she allowed her palm to travel deeper, further into her hair.

Their noses were now a breath away. Her gaze was traveling from Hermione's eyes and back to her lips again.

And suddenly the woman inched even closer.

Bellatrix waited, breath held and her entire frame shaking, for what was to come. Those lips were closer and closer and her vision blurred and everything was distorted.

The swarm of butterflies in her stomach was surely about to rip her open.

She was about to kiss...her. Hermione.

And then there was a sharp knock on the door. It send them jumping apart and away from each other. Herm- the Mudblood turned sharply and faced the door with a snarl to match a hungry dog's.

It was the maid. The timid, filthy creature that had actually saved Bellatrix from...

Indulging into something repulsive. She felt instantly nauseous. As bile rose in a steady wave in the back of her throat, she glared intently at the woman's back.

Disappointment. Disgust. Shame.

Hatred.

Pure, undiluted hatred.

The wretched scum had somehow wormed herself under Bellatrix's skin. Managed to mess with her head. Forced her - manipulated her - into performing a deed that was so wrong she wanted to curse the entire mansion just to eradicate this place.

This vile, vile place. Corrupted. Sick.

Evil.

The Dark Lord was right. Only a fool would doubt that and she had become a fool. And the price she had to pay was shame.

The maid said something and the Mudblood nodded. Then the servant left the room, closing the door behind her, and the Mudblood turned once again, this time to face her.

Fury blurred her vision. Before she knew it, her hand rose up and then there was a smack and the inside of her palm burned.

She had slapped that filthy creature.

Shivering with wrath, she only managed to croak out 'OUT! GET OUT! NOW!'

And the Mudblood's eyes bore into hers. Observant, pensive. Calm. The woman narrowed her eyes and then - finally - nodded.

'Be down in five, if you please.' she said quietly and turned and left the room, her pace brisk and self-assured.

Her head was killing her. The three of them - her, the Mudblood and her uncle - were sitting in a much smaller room than previously. There were low hanging lamps and a round table in the middle, surrounded with stuffed armchairs. Another grandfather clock, this one much bigger than the one in her bedroom, was standing in the corner.

The walls were full of trophies. She recognized deer horns and boar - what where they called? fangs? she was not much of a hunter herself - thingies, but there also were some exotics hides that were alien to her.

The man, dressed now in gray pants, a pale shirt and a brown vest, was smoking something that resembled the Mudblood's cigarettes - only that this thing was much bigger and dark.

'You see, my dear girl' he said, stretching lazily in his armchair, the sneer ever-present on his face 'this world is wretched. Our world' he raised a slim finger and shook it slightly 'is dying out.'

'Dying out?' the Mudblood took a sip of her tea, the china exquisite and old 'How so?'

'Less and less children are being born. We're replaced by niggers and Arabs. Say: France. Don't you know it's slowly turning into a caliphate? Don't you see it? In ten, twenty years' time, there will be a muezzin screaming his mambo-jumbo from Notre Dame.'

'That, I fear, is far-fetched.' the Mudblood put her teacup away. The china rattled delicately and Bellatrix noticed the woman's palm was shaking slightly. She chanced a glance at her face, but it remained impassive. Cold.

'Nonsense!' he shook his head vehemently 'Niggers and Arabs, Chinese and Pakistanis are being admitted into Oxford and Cambridge! Can't you see how foul it is! Trinity started admitting women!'

'Trinity College started admitting women back in the seventies, if I'm not mistaken.'

'What of sacred traditions?! The Gentlemen Club? Would you like to see a foul nigger in the Gentlemen Club?'

The Mudblood remained motionless for a prolonged period of time 'The world is changing, Uncle.' she finally spoke out, her voice flat but steady, hints of steely resolve tinting her tones 'You can't stop the time. You can't step into the same river twice -'

'Would you not quite quote Heraclitus at me, little girl?'

'Time is and always will be. The world is spinning and will spin until it's the end and everything falls apart. Nothing, my uncle, is eternal.'

'Save for God.'

The woman inhaled sharply 'Save for God.'

'Are you a Roman Catholic?' the question was instant and cold and his eyes were unreadable save for the fury that burned in them.

'I was baptized as one.'

Whatever they were talking about - whatever this Roman Catholicism was - it held some great importance to the man. Bellatrix watched him put his china away and stand up, his face drawn together and ghastly pale.

'A Roman Catholic.' he repeated in a hoarse whisper 'You answer to the whore of Babylon.'

'Forgive me' the woman snarled, her patience disappearing 'but you sound like Luther. Or Hus. This is not the seventeenth century. This is not the Thirty Years' War. And neither we're in the fifteenth century and fighting in the Hussite Wars.'

'You ought to be protestant.' he shot right back at her 'Like every member of this family had always been.'

'Forgive me' the woman's voice was now an octave lower 'but I'd rather die than accept predestination.'

'What?'

'I refuse to allow - to accept - the idea that my life has been decided for me eons before I was even born, that I have no chances at redemption, that I can't make my own fate -'

'Pelagian heresy!' the Muggle paled as though faced with his executioner.

They were talking nonsense, frankly speaking. Bellatrix snorted and suddenly two pairs of eyes were fixed at her. While the Mudblood looked both curious and slightly amused, the man was about to pop an aneurysm.

'Pray tell me, miss Black' he snarled through gritted teeth, something extremely feral about him now 'what is it that you find so funny? Our world at the brink of its destruction?'

'First of all, old man, it's Madame Black.' she snapped immediately, her temper rising steadily. The woman to her left cocked en eyebrow in an attempt to either pacify her or convey her genuine curiosity. With the wretched Mudblood nothing ever was obvious. 'And, secondly, I hardly think that there we share any common ground. There's no our world, mister.'

'Hermione' he ignored her and shifted to stare at his niece 'who is this woman you have brought into my home?'

'A friend.' the woman replied immediately, her voice icy 'A friend of noble birth and rather... different... ideas.'

'Different ideas?' his eyes traveled back to Bellatrix 'Different: how?'

'Don't burden your petty little mind, mister.' nose in the air, she glared at the man with all the contempt she could muster 'I don't believe the likes of you would ever understand my -' she stole a quick glance at the woman who was examining her fingernails with the air of someone extremely bored.

'I wish - and I will - cure this world.' the Muggle cut in 'We will rid this wretched world of the vermin that contains it. We shall restore what had been damaged. And we shall cure those who need to be cured. And you, my child, you will become the person you were always meant to.'

'Meaning?' the Mudblood's eyebrow nearly got lost in her hairline 'Who am I meant to be?'

'Who you were born to be.' he retorted smoothly 'Now, the question is: are you with us? Bear in mind: there is no middle ground. You can either be with us or against us.'

How familiar the Muggle sounded. It was like a strike to her chest. She exhaled, suddenly feeling immensely sick.

She was fifteen and the man was so beautiful with his sunken cheeks, brilliant eyes and straight back. He talked about the past and talked about the future. he urged them to stand up and fight. And in this brave new world there would be no middle ground. No mediocrity. Grandeur or nothingness.

It had been the sweetest poison. She drank in with the greed of a child.

See, she used to be a dreamer.

And his tale felt like the grandest of them all.

And now a Muggle was repeating his words. And the entire world had collapsed.

'How? How do you plan to cure this - this wretched world, uncle?' Bellatrix looked at the Mudblood. She was calm on the outside. But every inch of her face screamed of rapt attention. Knitted eyebrows and darkened eyes, the way she leaned slightly in her seat and the way her breathing slowed down...

She knew her all too well.

'Now is not the time.' he replied smoothly 'I see you have... blundered, child. But we all have. Now, it's not too late to fix you. Will you let me?'

The silence was heavy. Almost wary.

'Please.'

Stunned and panicked, she stared at the traitor.

She looked almost timid.

'I'm proud of you, child.'

'Thank you, uncle.'

'Now' his gaze flicked over Bellatrix and returned to the Mudblood 'What is the nature of your relationship to Madame Black?'

'Friendship.'

'You had mentioned -'

'It came out wrong.' she never allowed him to finish, her eyes suddenly pleading with him 'I never meant to -'

'Don't lie to me.' he whispered menacingly 'Don't you dare lie to me.'

'I'm -'

But before the Mudblood managed to finish her sentence, the man was on his feet. He struck her only once, but she nearly fell off the armchair, her head twisted and her hair in disarray.

She expected the woman to lash out. Leap from her seat and take that - that filthy creature - Muggle down. She had seen her do it. So many times.

But this time the Mudblood remained timid.

'Forgive me.' she drew a shaky breath and Bellatrix froze. It felt so wrong.

She blinked. And breathed.

'I will ask you only one more time.' the man sat back down and massaged his palm.

'I -' the Mudblood stammered and Bellatrix felt herself crumble. 'I- it's -it's sinful.' she finally spat out, sheer shame making her voice shiver.

'Very good.' the Muggle nodded sternly 'Let me tell you something, child. Something very important. Do you know why you grandmother was disowned?'

'Yes, she married a Roman Catholic.'

'No child. She put her own gain, her own self, before her family. And you know what we say. Family, duty, honor. Our duty is family. There lies our honor. Do you understand, child? You have to give yourself away to your family. Your name, passing it down, making it strong, this is your sole purpose on this Earth. This is our sole purpose, mine, my brother's and now, yours. Do you understand?'

'I do.'

'You must... break your commitment to this woman.'

Bellatrix opened her mouth, ready to snarl - but found herself speechless.

Her Father would say the very same thing. Your family is all that there is. All you must cherish, all that is sacred - is family. Nothing more.

'I will' the Mudblood nodded, her face still lowered 'but' she glance up and looked at her uncle 'do not send her away. Not for my gain' she added swiftly, probably seeing the man's rising ire 'she's useful.'

'Useful?'

'Wealthy. Of a noble family. She' the Mudblood now looked at Bellatrix 'she also lost her way.'

'I see.' the Muggle nodded 'I see. Would you, Madame Black, be willing -'

Bellatrix opened her mouth to lash out but something hit her shin. Quite painfully. Looking down she saw the Mudblood's retreating foot. The woman cleared her throat and rubbed her cheek.

'Of course.' Bellatrix drawled slowly. Whatever this game was, she decided to play her part.

'You shall be saved then.' the Muggle stood up again and this time the Mudblood followed in his suit 'Now, ready yourselves for the dinner. I see you haven't brought any luggage with you. Luckily, we have some spare clothing. Martha will show you to the boudoir. After dinner we shall discuss, Hermione, your defection from the Catholic Church.'

The timid servant led them to a spacious but very chilly room. With a small bob, she departed, leaving the two of them alone.

She planned to ignore the Mudblood all the way through. She planned to giver her the could shoulder and finally prove to be a superior being. Her temper, however, was her downfall.

'What are you playing at, Mudblood?' she hissed, her anger getting better of her. She canted her hips and crossed her arms on her chest.

'Can we not have this argument right here right now?' the Mudblood sighed and walked towards a giant wardrobe that was standing in the corner of the room. She pulled the creaking doors opened and sighed once again. Curious, Bellatrix inched closer and saw gowns. Dozens of them. The Mudblood turned her head and cast an amused glance at Bellatrix.

'Bluebeard much, eh?' the horrible woman shot Bellatrix a small smile.

'Are you delirious again?' she did her best to drawl and sneer, but the smile was contagious and suddenly, to her utmost horror, she found herself returning it.

Anger blazed within her the next moment. She was becoming weak. Weak enough to commit a travesty and then forget all about it - and smile at a depraved, filthy Mudblood. What would her Father think?

What would the Dark Lord think?

Hating herself, this cursed place and that damned woman, she swiftly changed the smile into a sour grimace. Sour enough to make her own facial muscles hurt.

'A pretty ghastly tale, if you ask me.' the woman - how could anyone be that dense and not recognize a wrathful Death Eater for the threat they presented? - cocked and eyebrow. She pulled back a loose strand of her locks -

\- hair, of course -

\- and shrugged noncommittally. 'I was freaked out as a child.'

'Why are you telling me about this nonsense?' she demanded harshly.

'Oh' the woman shrugged once again and returned to looking at the gowns 'Guess I just wanted to share that one with you.'

'Well don't.'

'Well I won't.'

Moments later she made another abhorrent mistake.

'Tell me, Muddy. What is it about? What scared the itty bitty Muddy baby?'

'A man who' the woman turned to look at her once again, this time her expression almost playful 'keeps killing his wives. He stashes their corpses in a room.'

'Lovely Muggle tales.'

'You know, they say curiosity killed the cat.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Well, if you look at that tale the standard way, you'll see a sick weirdo and an innocent bride who makes the worst mistake ever by stumbling into the room. See, he leaves her the keys to his castle and tells her she may see each and every room - save for one, that is. He leaves, she gets bored and one day, despite knowing she shouldn't, she goes to the room. She sees the corpses and, somehow - I don't remember the details - something gives away what she did. The man returns and is immediately aware what she had done. So he wants to have her executed, but she flees to a tower, locks herself in and asks her brothers to save her. In the end, they get there on time, kill the man and she inherits his castle and lives happily every after.'

'I fail to see the logic between your story and curiosity that killed the cat, Muddy.'

'One way you look at it, you see a vile man and an innocent girl. The villain goes down she lives happily ever after. The way I see it - it's the story of trust. You know, you give someone the keys to your castle - it's a neat metaphor for allowing someone in. And we all have our dark places - or parts of us we want to keep private. That's one thing. And the other. Adam and Eve.'

'What?'

'Never mind. Anyway: what's the best way to both prove you trust someone and to see if someone's trustworthy, if not give them the keys. The choice.'

'The choice?'

'Bellatrix. The choice to either break the trust - or keep it.'

'You make it sound like unconditional love.'

'Maybe I do. Maybe that's what those two are about, in the end.'

'What? Love and trust?'

'Love is trust. And trust is love. And you can't have it - or give it - without the freedom to.'

'What?'

'If you want love, you need freedom. If you want someone's love, you have to set them free.'

'Why are we talking about this - instead of picking those damned gowns?' she blinked, moments later, snapping out of this weird, mushy feeling that build up in her gut 'And you could start explaining what is this game you're playing.'

The woman snorted and suddenly stood on the tips of her toes. She pulled something out of the wardrobe. Turning around, she thrust the thing at Bellatrix.

'Here. Hope crimson is OK with you.' there was a hint of smile on her face, something bordering on thorough amusement shining in her eyes. The woman cocked an eyebrow and stepped back, leaning against the wardrobe. She pointed at a painted screen that stood on the other side of the room 'Go, change. I need to see if you look acceptable.'

'Acceptable?' she smirked at the Mudblood, suddenly feeling giddy - almost playful.

It felt like it used to - before battles. All that giddiness and waves of adrenaline, the sudden waves of joy and eagerness to play - she knew it. The euphoria that struck her just as she was readying to enter a deadly fight - it was all familiar. And so she licked her lips, threw her head back - and cackled.

And saw the Mudblood stare at her with the expression of someone who was witnessing something immensely peculiar.

'What?' she snarled in-between cackles.

The woman shook her head and suddenly snickered.

'Sometimes I forget how weird you are.'

She stuck her tongue out and marched to the screen. The gown was not that bad, Bellatrix had to admit. It was slim in the waist and rather revealing when it came to cleavage. Not, of course, to the point of lewdness, but quite teasing nonetheless. It reached to her ankles when she put it on.

It reminded her of Mother's stories. When her parents were young, they would have to dress sharply when - as they called it - going down. Each dinner required the infamous white tie.

But something was lacking. Bellatrix stared at her bare arms.

'Where are the gloves, Muddy?' she couldn't stop the smallest of smiles. It was like a disease, this odd desire to smile.

'You're right!' the woman called back, and Bellatrix pouted, having hoped the request would baffle the imbecile. Probably, and that made her frown, the Mudblood was familiar with dress codes and such.

Probably even more familiar than Bellatrix herself. The problem was that she had always frowned at such pesky little things such as etiquette. And now, a Mudblood, a filthy, disgusting creature (no matter how lovely) had a one up over her.

'Coming right up!' the woman added, something of a hint of laughter coloring her voice 'Er, Bella, are you decent?'

She almost snarled at the new monicker but then remember she had told the woman to use it herself. Shaking her head, she merely sighed.

'Now, before I fall asleep?'

The gloves were chucked above the screen. One landed on Bellatrix's head, the other on the floor.

'And why are you throwing pieces of garment at me?' she demanded, no longer sure, though, whether amused or annoyed.

Funny and dangerous how that lowly creature had managed to find its way under Bellatrix's skin.

Unacceptable, that is.

Quite.

Very much.

'I'd rather not see you in your birthday suit.' the woman responded, the laughter in her voice now obvious 'Heavens, how would you react.'

'Quite.' she admitted haughtily. The gloves were black and silk and suddenly she felt both in and out of her element. Peculiar. 'Although, I'd say it'd be you, who wouldn't be able to handle it.'

'Your body?'

She blushed and hissed.

Obnoxious, filthy creature.

She was leaning against the wall, foot tapping on the floor, eyes glued to the screen behind which the Mudblood was changing.

Oh, how she'd ridicule her! It was more than certain that the Mudblood would emerge looking either tacky or funny. There was no way a filthy creature would be able to handle something Bellatrix had been brought up to know all too well with the grace of someone of a better birth.

And hopefully, that image would finally snap her out of her unlucky predicament.

The said predicament being that odd thing she was feeling.

Experiencing, that is.

But then, fate was cruel. And cruelty was the new goddess. So when the Mudblood emerged from behind the screen, Bellatrix found herself staring.

She was wearing a midnight-blue sleeveless dress with black gloves. Her hair cascading richly on pale shoulders seemed to shine in the light. Tall and very thin, the woman looked oddly fragile, or rather would have looked, were she not standing tall and proud, her face devoid of any expression. She was perfect. Perfectly indifferent and perfectly beautiful and the moment Bellatrix saw them, she knew the Mudblood would be able to merge with a pure-blood crowd with no problem. If they never knew her origins, they would define her as their own. And many men, eligible bachelors from all over the country, would fawn over her, trying to woo their way -

'Well?' the Mudblood cocked an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on her lips - and that snapped Bellatrix out of her musings. 'Do you think we can go down?'

Voice failing her, Bellatrix nodded and suddenly found herself licking her lips. She needed to come up with something. Nothing ever rendered a Black speechless. And nothing ever would make her look attracted to someone of lesser birth (no to say: same sex, which was a sick thing to consider).

'What's the plan?'

'I thought first' the Mudblood cocked her head and walked towards Bellatrix 'of setting the place on fire and killing the two of them. Now, however, I believe we need to blend in.'

'Why?' she demanded harshly, her voice still unstable and her mind spinning as though she was falling. And falling indeed she was, and this was horrific and she hated every single inch of it.

'Well' the woman smiled lazily and reached out - Bellatrix's eyes glued to the extended arm - and grabbed her elbow. The touch was gentle but firm and Bellatrix found herself walked out of the room. 'we might learn new things.'

'Don't you think they're just lunatics?' she whispered angrily, trying halfheartedly to yank her arm away. But the woman was holding her and the touch was grounding in some pleasantly peculiar fashion. They were walking down the hallway now, passing portraits of people long dead and sets of door that led to rooms that now stood empty. Their footsteps were quite loud, floorboards creaking - and the sound was eerie. It felt like walking through a ghost house.

'You see' Mudblood's voice was a low purr 'once upon a time this place was alive. Three generations living under the same roof. Loud and cheerful it was, grandparents in their studies, parents taking care of their everyday business and the children, siblings, squabbling over all sorts of things. That makes me think of the fall of the house of Usher. And that makes me think something nefarious is at play. So let us go then, you and I. And let us play.'

'What is the house of Usher?'

'All in good time, darling.'

'You're stupid, Mudblood.'

'Perhaps.'

They arrived downstairs to meet another Muggle. This one was younger and quite handsome. Very tall, with broad shoulders and slim frame, he looked noble enough to be a wizard. Chestnut hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail and his smile was almost lazy. He would have been quite astounding save for his eyes which were immensely cold. Golden and rich, they were sharp and cruel.

'Goodness if it's not my little niece Hermione.' he said, the smile wider and more brilliant.

'Uncle Edward!' the Mudblood finally let go of Bellatrix's arm and rusher forward, her own smile matching his brilliance.

It struck her hard. Two players, both of them more than adept at the game. They exchanged welcoming kisses, they exchanged few words and the entire thing seemed almost genuine. Save for the mutual hardness of eyes.

'This is my dear friend, Bellatrix Black.' the Mudblood turned to her and extended her hand in a gesture of introduction. 'And this is my Uncle Edward.'

'Enchanted, madame.' the Muggle walked towards her and as she lifted her arm to greet his, he grabbed her palm, bowed slightly and kissed her knuckles. She nearly pulled her hand back, appalled and startled, but the woman send her a warning glare and she smiled back at him, feeling sudden stiffness in her facial muscles. She was never the one to play games. It was her sister's domain, Narcissa the Ever Polite always knew her curtsies and pleasantries, while she preferred the thrill of a fight and the sheer joy of bringing pain.

'Robert is waiting for us.' Edward once again turned to look at the Mudblood 'Shall we enter the dining room?'

'Let us, of course.' the Mudblood nodded.

The dining room was huge. A monstrosity of a table stood in its middle, big enough to have twenty people sit, was set only for the four of them. As they entered, Robert stood up and greeted them, his face impassive and arrogant.

Per usual, the walls were adorned with painting. A ship sailing through stormy seas, a lonely mountain as seen from the valley, camel riders and women in long dresses, holding umbrellas and walking down by a river. She caught the Mudblood's expression as the woman saw the painting. An eyebrow shot up in something that resembled utter shock but the moment it appeared it was gone, once again replaced by a sickly-sweet smile.

Rain lashed against the window panes and the fire in the fireplace flickered. The room was chilly. Bellatrix felt goosebumps erupting all over her body. She sat down and looked at her place. White porcelain with gold adorning. She touched its edge and found it thin and delicate. Expensive. And old. Not unlike she's seen in the Malfoy Manor. Well, before the Dark Lord and some of the Death Eaters decided to move in. They did not enjoy pretty things. And pretty things seemed to not stand a chance of surviving them.

Narcissa did complain a lot about losing her best china, after all.

Well, some of the Death Eaters were crude enough to pass for Mudbloods. Purity of blood was one thing, the quality of the birth another. Especially the old houses. Probably the propaganda about inbreeding was, at some points, true. Alas.

Bellatrix sighed. She forced herself to tune in to conversation.

'Our company has close ties with the government.' the handsome Muggle, Edward, was saying. That immediately had her attention. She shot a brief glance at the Mudblood, but the woman's expression was closed-off.

'I see' the woman said, lifting a spoon the her lips. The soup was green. Spinach and cheese, probably. 'Forgive me, uncle Edward, but what is it called? I'm sure I've heard of it, especially that you're dealing with biotechnology and I-'

'And you want to study medicine. Which is a great thing.' the other Muggle, Robert, interjected, something of uncertainty entering his voice. While Edward looked positively engrossed with the Mudblood, Robert seemed not to trust her. It was a curious thing indeed.

'Yes, thank you, Rob.' Edward waved his hand dismissively 'I'm sure you know we can trust our own flesh and blood, can't we?' the smile, broad and warm, was an threat and an order. It appeared as though the younger brother was holding the reins.

'While I have no quarries -' Robert retorted, but Edward cut in, his voice dropping an octave.

'Do not fret. It doesn't befit you. Or go too well with your condition.'

Curious and curiouser. The older Muggle was sick?

She saw the Mudblood's eyes suddenly brighten but the woman instantly narrowed them, slowly blinking any emotion away.

'The Wiener Company' Edward shot his niece another smile 'specializes in, as you've said so yourself, biotechnology. But we've got another agenda, so to speak.'

'Oh yes?' the Mudblood leaned forward in her seat.

Why do I know the name?

Bellatrix shifted in her own. The name did ring a bell. But which one was it - or where was it - well, that remained an annoying mystery.

'We have found out' the man reached for a napkin and lazily dabbed his lips, the glint in his eyes feral and amused at the same time, which was quite disheartening, were Bellatrix to be honest with herself 'some disturbing things.'

'How do you mean?' the Mudblood looked, for her part, riveted. A faint blush was entering her cheeks. She looked young, foolish, innocent and excited and suddenly Bellatrix realized how deadly it was. Edward's eyes were now simply glued to her, incest or not, he was obviously unable to look away, the vain peacock he probably was.

Deadly, deadly Mudblood. And her mastermind games.

'It seems...' Edward pushed away the soup plate and the maid instantly took it away.

'Thou shalt not suffer a witch.' Robert, his face sullen and his complexion ghastly pale, spoke up. They all turned to look at them and the Mudblood cocked an eyebrow.

'Uncle?' the question was timid and soft and oh so perfect, because the moment it rolled off her lips, Edward's eyes were shining as though he was seeing a new, sharp and beautiful broomstick, and he reached back and rang a bell and the servant reappeared and he said triumphantly 'Fetch me the black box from my study.'

And the woman was back in no time and Edward dismissed her and opened the box and the Mudblood gasped.

And Bellatrix nearly fainted.

Inside the box there it lay, crooked and familiar and trusted and beloved.

Her wand.


	33. Scream or Cry

Ours is the fury. Ours is the right and ours is the law. We shall ride and we shall see victory, for only the righteous heart shall be victorious in the end.

Let us not fear. We are not doomed. We shall prevail.

Raise your heads. It is time to ride out.

And fear no more.

The man stands. His face is pale, yet his icy blue eyes remain alight and alive, focused on the sky as though he is expecting something to arrive from heaven. The man stands and the crowd begins to cheer.

Glory, the man says firmly, It is either glory or death. But, he raises his voice and the noise of the crowd dies instantly, Even in death shall we be glorious. Gloria victis!

The crowd is screaming in ecstasy. Arms are raised, hands balled in fists, united they stand, man to man, woman to woman, their right arm and the right fist raised into the heaven in a gesture of salute.

The man nods slowly, his eyes scanning the crowd now, apparently taking in the glorious mess they are making. He nods again, a small smile playing on his lips. Brothers, sisters, he says solemnly, our entire existence is threatened. The enemy is vast in numbers. The enemy never sleeps. The enemy doesn't know we're onto him. Our entire towns go missing. People vanish on daily basis. The enemy wants our horror.

The silence is almost profound.

But we shall not yield. No more, not an inch. The man raises his voice. The horror will be ours. We shall strike and we shall strike where it hurts the most. Our government is idle. Our police no longer keeps our safe. Thieves and whores, liars and traitors. Their time will come too. But first... first we shall stand together. United. In a fight that will shake the entire world.

Brothers and sisters. Fear no more. We are writing history.

Let us not fear. Tonight, brothers and sisters, tonight we are eternal.

Tommy Velasquez was a plain man. He liked his Guinness a tad more than his girlfriend and he worked in retail. His Honda was quite beat up and his clothes were bought mostly in Gap. He had a thing for Gap. On Sundays he played football with his mates and then went to church. Afterwards he would visit his parents and have a dinner, most often it consisted of pork chops or meatloaf.

Little did he know he would make history one particularly rainy Sunday morning. And it all started with an oil leak.

'So, did you really have a secret cellar at the Manor?' Potter, the sanctimonious Neanderthal, was sprawled all over a kitchen chair, some Muggle drink in his hand and a perfectly ordinary sandwich in the other. He was talking to Draco, who was sat opposite him, his hair unruly like she had never seen before.

And she should have had. She was his mother after all and mothers were supposed to know all about their children.

Hermione had not responded and Narcissa was starting to feel worried. Of course they must have been extremely busy. Yet her sister, her unstable, almost unlovable sister was there and wherever Bellatrix went, disaster soon followed. Not to mention all those crazy Muggles who were hell-bent on destroying their entire world.

Marigold's phone number felt somehow heavy. To call would be to compromise. Not to call would mean remaining idle while others fought.

'Well, what do you think, Golden Git? A house that old and no secret cellar?' Draco drawled but there was no malice in his voice.

'What is it with you people and all that need for secrecy?' Potter snorted and took another loud gulp of his drink. He spluttered slightly and his face flushed. Draco rolled his eyes, something bordering on amusement shining in his eyes.

'You really are as dumb as they say' Draco sighed dramatically 'Look at current events and tell me secrecy is a bad idea.'

'Maybe if we came out to them centuries earlier?'

'Excuse me, have you passed out and hit your head? Or maybe you completely forgot that dead loony's class and all that talk about burning witches all throughout sixteenth century?'

'Alright' Potter waved his hand 'But don't tell me we're not too arrogant to make friends with anybody outside our little group. I mean, look at Hogwarts and the Houses. Even at school you're taught that you're better than the others. Gryffindor versus Slytherin, Ravenclaws who look after their own and stick together, and Huffle -'

'-puff that exists to be bullied, yes, but that's tradition, Potter. One does not mess with that.'

'Well maybe it has to go.'

'And you end up with hundreds of very different kids ushered into random dormitories, yes? You know what you get? Chaos. A bloody nightmare with show offs like yourself and blubbering fools like some Hufflepuff John or other Jeremiah stuck in a same dormitory, stuck in a same common room. A crybaby that drives you crazy and seven years of never ending tears ahead. Good luck with that, Potter. Don't come crying, I tell you.'

'You've given that a thought, haven't you?' the boy admitted softly and Narcissa refocused on the task at hand.

She was trying to make a coffee. But the machine and all its shiny buttons looked as alien as possible. It was beyond her how Muggles operated those things on daily basis.

No surprise they ended up creating those flying monsters that shot bullets and spat light out. She shuddered.

'Madame Malfoy' the boy must have noticed her distressed because he turned in his chair, his face oddly flushed as he eyed her 'do you need a hand? Those appliances are wickedly high tech.' he smiled sheepishly 'My Uncle Vernon would have a seizure if he saw that.' he pointed at that coffee machine object 'It's really advanced.'

He could have spoken gibberish for all she knew, but she nodded timidly and shot him the smallest of smiles. 'Thank you, Harry.' The name still felt alien when spoken out loud.

The boy returned the smile quite timidly. He too, probably, felt strange about their new-found affinity. The war - or however else that thing going on could be called - had changed them all, changed far deeper than any could have ever anticipated.

'Look at this!' Potter's cry shook her out of her musings. She flinched and turned to look at him and saw him standing by the window, looking out. She approached him with Draco sharply following behind and leaned over. A girl was walking towards their house. Narcissa blinked and finally recognized the face, plain and not very pretty. It was the young Walker girl who was nearing their door. Soon a sharp knock followed and someone walked to get the door. Narcissa pushed her hair back and frowned. She never learned the girl's name. She had been given a number and yet never made the call. She was idle and Hermione, the glamorous, weary Hermione, was out of touch.

Anton walked the girl into the kitchen. She was clad in a gray jumper, her hair mousy and complexion rather pale. Her eyes, however, watery as they were, were blazing like sunlight.

'Well?' the girl demanded sharply instead of any customary greeting.

'Well what?' Narcissa heard herself snap at that. It felt almost natural. No Muggle would ever snap at Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. No one, because her blood was pure and her family -

\- her family consisted mostly of psychopaths, its lineage crumbled by centuries of most risque inbreeding, its name long deprived of any meaning. She was no better and that was the sorrowful truth of the new age they had entered.

'How did it go? Did you talk to Marigold?' the girl demanded and sat herself by the kitchen table.

'Would you like some coffee?' Harry Potter said in lieu of any sensible explanation. He was either very stupid or very polite. The girl shot him a glare but nodded stiffly.

'Black, if you could.'

'Sure. Do you take sugar?'

'Yeah. I do. So' the girl refocused and stared at Narcissa 'Did you call her?'

'No.' she answered in the most dignified manner she could. The idea of her explaining herself to a Muggle teenager was preposterous and quite ridiculous. 'Our... leader has not answered our message yet.'

'So you'll wait until he calls you back? You can't do anything on your own? Where is he? Why is he not here?' the girl flooded her with questions and Anton suddenly coughed a little bit and sat down beside her, his thin face twisted in some sort of a crooked smile.

'It's not a he.' he said plainly 'It's a she.'

'Same, different, inconsequential.' the girl shrugged and narrowed her eyes 'Well, where is she then?'

Narcissa sighed dramatically and leaned against the counter. She twisted her hands and leveled the girl with an icy glare. Muggle or not, the girl was probably Draco's age and in no universe, this or an altered one, would she, Narcissa Malfoy, be scolded by a teenager. Never.

'Dear' she said almost venomously 'I daresay I'm not forced to give you any explanations, am I? Consider it a token of... my good will, that I answer your quite rude questions. Hermione is currently in Scotland.'

'Scotland?' the girl shoot up from her chair 'What? Is she like investigating MacMhuirich?'

'How do you know that name?' Anton voiced what Narcissa, stunned dumb, could not utter.

'He's this scientist that's...' the girl broke off and scratched her head 'He's bad, real bad. If this Hermione took him out... well, he's one of the pillars of the organization... if he was taken out, they'd loose a major player and maybe, maybe there would be a shot at taking them down entirely. Down with one of the MIs too...'

'Who is he?' Harry handed her a cup of coffee and took a cautious step back.

'He's a Purifier' the girl shrugged and added in explanation 'They're this sect that believes in eugenics and the purification the human race.'

'Like the Nazi party?' Potter cut in, attentive and visibly scared.

'Even worse. They'd like to engineer people, you know, enhance their genome and stuff and also wipe the Earth of Others.'

'Others?' Harry and Draco asked in unison.

The girl took a sip of her coffee 'You know' she sat back down 'they believe in, dunno, magic?' she was apparently hesitant 'As though there were real wizards out there and posed a threat... Odd stuff' she shrugged again 'It all stared with a secret Cambridge society back in the nineteenth century, you know, when there was this major hype for occult and orient and... stuff.'

'Right.' Potter acknowledged. 'So, you're saying that the Others, you did call them Others, didn't you, were discovered in the nineteenth century?'

'Discovered isn't the best word. I'd rather say that... there were rumors and someone started investigating... and then someone came up with this theory that the Others exist and pose a threat to, you know, normal people. If you wanna read about it so much why don't you go to Cambridge.'

'What for?' Potter scratched his head and tousled his already messy hair. 'I mean, you're saying there's some major data in a university?'

'Of course not.' the girl snickered 'See, when my Dad went to Cambridge he met some people from the sect, the Purifiers, and for some time he was in it. I sort of...ran through his stuff a couple of years ago. So I know that one of the colleges there's this secret meeting room or library where they keep all this stuff.'

'Who else was in the sect?' Dolohov cut in.

'Well, Marigold of course. But she never believed any of this crap, though. My Dad used to say that all she cares about is herself, so I'd say she was for the money or power... And...' the girl sighed 'Someone Granger. He was a dentist and a mason and he used to work with Dad sometimes. Not dentistry, though.'

'Where is he now?' Narcissa's lips have gone wooden. Were she not leaning against the counter, she might have fallen to the ground.

'Went missing few months ago. He and his wife simply vanished - that's at least what Dad told Mum some time ago.' the girl shrugged 'Why, do you know him?'

'No.' Harry Potter answered firmly. 'We have a friend who has a similar last name, that's all.'

'Oh. And it's not him?'

'No, most definitely not.'

'Call Marigold today.' the girl stood up 'And we can arrange a trip to Cambridge. I have to go, Mum's going crazy I fear.'


	34. In Vain

There it was. Just inches away.

Her wand. In the hands of a Muggle. The world had truly become a place of nightmares and desperation.

She swallowed harshly and glared at the Mudblood beside her. The woman stood, frozen still, hips canted and a singular - oh so perfect - eyebrow raised up, her gaze firmly fixed on the wand.

'Well?' the Mudblood finally spoke out, her voice devoid of any emotion 'What are we looking at? A piece of wood?'

For a split second she considered punching her, lashing out and smashing that porcelain doll complexion, draw blood, distort the smooth, almost polished features, and then she reconsidered. It was nothing but a game. A game she too would have to play.

'Well?' she mimicked Granger 'What on Earth is that?'

'An artifact.' the Muggle said solemnly, his face slightly contorted with anger. Not the reaction he was hoping for, idiot. Bloody, stupid Muggle with addled brains and a smug mug. Filth. Scum.

The Muggle pushed his smooth brown hair back and licked his lips.

'Now, don't exaggerate, Robert.' he said smugly 'How can they know what they're looking at?' The older Muggle, Robert, scoffed at that and cleared his throat.

'It is' he said with certain stress in his voice 'an item of immense power. A wand.'

'Excuse me?' Granger, the oh-so-smart Mudblood, almost choked on her words. 'A wand? Some hocus-pocus magical thingy? Please.' she rolled her eyes. If Bellatrix didn't know, she would have fallen the act. It was executed almost perfectly. Safe for a nervous glint that shone in the woman's eyes. The stakes indeed were high. One blunder and their wild plan would go up in smoke.

'Speak not of things you don't understand, foolish girl!' the Muggle, Robert, roared, his face blotched red and his eyes malicious.

'That's quite alright.' the other Muggle cut in smoothly. 'Please, let us all sit down. Some tea, perhaps? Hermione' he pointed at the woman with a lazy smile 'A good scientist is wary, of course. However, one must not discern theories just because they don't seem possible, when all facts point in other direction.'

And so they sat down.

'Tell me, uncle Edward.' Granger regained her composure, her hands neatly nested upon her thighs, the perfect visage of innocent perfection 'What does it all mean? Is magic' she pronounced the word as though it were alien to her lips 'real?' she almost smiled at that, some twinkle of fake amusement showing in those bottomless pools of her irises.

'I know' he smiled once again 'it all seems far-fetched and quite peculiar at first, but allow me to explain. What do you know about witch hunts?'

'You mean those from the sixteenth century? Albinos and redheads, left-handed village idiots, all those poor people persecuted and tortured just because someone delusional thought they posed a threat to the very structure of reality? Or are we talking about something else?'

'No, we are not.' the Muggle nodded firmly 'History books taught us lies, Hermione. So many unexplainable occurrences throughout the world? Floods and thunderstorms in January? People vanishing without a trace? Strange houses and freak accidents? A bridge in London collapsing just like that?' he clapped his hands to stress his point 'Explosions and inexplicable fog in high pressure system weather? How do you explain those things?'

'What do you mean?' Bellatrix decided to cut in, her voice forced steady, the familiar drawl coloring her tones 'All those accidents or whatever you wish to call those occurrences as you so eloquently phrased it, not coincidence but magic? How does that make sense, Mr. Edward?'

'The hunts were not stirred by sheer superstition, Madame Black. Strange things have been happening all throughout ages. Things we never explained but always considered merely freak accidents. It took generations to discover the patterns. People disappearing. People appearing. Memory loses. Inexplicable accidents, blocks erased from existence, children suddenly vanishing into thin air. A girl that vanishes at eleven and continues her education overseas... yes, overseas, but we are not blind nor deaf and when there is no foreign school, there is no overseas and the child disappears... A boy that suddenly no longer exists in the papers... We have collected the data.'

Silence felt almost suffocating. Here it was, the secrecy of their world crashing down, accompanied by a Muggle's smug smile. Centuries of tradition and inquisitive minds of Muggles, a combination that proved deadlier than any killing curse. She felt her heart pound against her ribcage, a sinking feeling filling up the pit of her stomach. She stole a glance at Granger. The Mudblood, porcelain pale and almost unmoving, was almost not looking distressed. She had, however, learned the woman. She could see the tiniest grimace at the corners of her lips, her slightly scrunched eyebrows, her narrowed eyes. Impassive as she might have looked for outsiders, she was almost teetering on the edge of a panic attack. Yes, her world, no matter how scandalous that had sounded, was almost crashing down - and together they were tumbling down, spiraling further and further out of control.

'There is a special society' the Muggle, Edward, continued almost in a bored-like manner 'that has been established some time ago. Finest minds inquiring peculiar occurrences, looking for patterns, financed both privately and then publicly, finally put two and two together. And quite recently, one of theirs had lost their touch and had almost gone public with his misdeeds.'

'What do you mean?' Granger breather, her voiced cracking slightly. She swallowed harshly and pushed her hair back and suddenly Bellatrix felt like grasping that hand, clutching it tight and -

\- no more of this.

'What I mean is: they have slipped up. They have alerted everyone. Hah, one might say they have tried to wage war against us. We are not cattle, however, and we have something they do not posses.'

'Which is?'

'Science.' the Muggle smiled brilliantly.

He stood up and cleared his throat.

'And now, dear Hermione, tell us about your seven years at that magical school you had attended.'

The Mudblood visibly froze. 'What?'

It was as incredulous as shocked.

'Please' he scoffed 'not only do I know that the wand in my possession belongs to her' the Muggle nodded towards Bellatrix 'but also that you are quite a witch.'

'What? But - how? Who?' the Mudblood, still shocked, spluttered, something in her almost breaking in front of Bellatrix's eyes.

But what could she do? It was all over. Now it was. Here, in this dreadful manor full of ancient, clever - oh so clever - Muggles, the last mystery of their world, Hogwarts and the House of Black, would become unraveled and desecrated and there was nothing to be done about it. And it was Him, the Dark Lord himself, who had led to this very moment.

Now she knew, now she believed all those weird things the Mudblood, that brave, brave woman, had said. The beginning of the end and the end of all the beginning. What could they do now?

'Your father, Hermione' the Muggle shot them another brilliant smile 'is no fool. He had always been the strongest supporter of Purification. And your education was the very moment he had ever hoped for. You see, he had watched you and observed you and had studied your books and had taken pictures of your friends and of your equipment, and yes, he had risen to be the boss. Now, however, I shall claim my prize.'

'What do you mean?' Bellatrix found her voice and shrieked as she saw Granger almost collapse into her chair, her face alarmingly pale and her eyes large and so dark and so, so brimming with pain it almost hurt Bellatrix to look.

'Seize them.' the Muggle said and suddenly there was darkness.


	35. And There Would Be Noise

'Something's wrong.' Draco spoke up. They were sipping their tea. The afternoon was growing late. Narcissa was gone. She had left in the morning, after a brief conversation with Anton, one escalating into an argument. She had said she would be back by midday. She hadn't returned yet.

'No.' he shook his head.

'How do you even know any of that?' it was a valid question, he thought. Instead of replying, he scratched his nose, then brushed his forehead, staring straight ahead, hoping that no one will push him for answers.

'I don't' he finally muttered, praying this would be enough. It wasn't. It never was nor ever could be. Once again he was forced to give replies to questions he did not know how to answer. And so he looked at the boy. Pale blonde hair combed back in some pathetic attempt at normalcy, slightly sunken, bordering on gaunt face, shrunken frame, and hunched shoulders. He had changed, more so than anyone else, during those past weeks. A shadow of a haughty boy. A broken man, who was learning how to grow up. It felt bad.

'We should… dunno… do something.' Draco, under his scrutiny, pushed his chin up in some mock defiance. 'It does not do well… to dwell' he smiled sheepishly at the rhyme.

'Yeah' he nodded 'possibly so.' Once again he scratched his chin 'But what? We can't really storm in in some random attempt at, dunno, chivalry.'

'They're missing.' Draco immediately hissed. 'We can't seat on our arses and wait for some bloody miracle.'

'Arses, huh?' he shot back, a grin misshaping his lips.

'Shut up.' Draco leered, but without real viciousness behind it.

In silence they finished their teas. Afternoon was heavy and dark, with rain pelting from the swollen sky and icy blasts of wind thundering against the windowpanes. The house felt warm, a semblance of sanctuary, like Hogwarts used to be, those months – or was it years already? – ago.

The stairs creaked and soon Anton entered the kitchen. Hands pushed into the pockets of his pants, eyebrows knitted tightly together, he looked restless and tired. Without a word he threw himself on a chair and stretched his legs.

'Some weather, eh?' he muttered.

'Yeah. Lovely.' He smiled. As far as conversations went, this was quite awful. They were stuck, literally and figuratively at the same time. 'Have you heard -?'

'No.' Anton shook his head 'not a word.'

Silence followed. Another blast of wind shook the window, glass rattling in an almost threatening manner.

''S no good.' Draco muttered ''s no good.'

'We ought to do…. Something.' He said instantly. Sitting home while others were possibly in dire straits felt disturbing. Not only the world went to hell, but also he was immobilized, a nightmare made real.

'Yeah, but what?' Anton's brows knitted even more tightly, a vertical line between them growing deeper and darker, now resembling a scar rather than anything else. The man looked dark, an apparition out of children's book, out of its grave and ready to haunt the world of the living 'We have no leads, we have nothing.'

'It can't be' he said slowly, thinking hard 'all that bad. I mean, she's… tough, isn't she? She ought to… pull through.'

'It's not her I'm worried about.'

'No?' he stood up, picked the cup and walked to the sink 'What is it then?'

'Time.'

'Time?'

'Don't be daft, boy' Anton growled tiredly 'time's our greatest enemy.'

'Maybe she's onto something?' he rinsed the cup in cool water and placed in on the marble top.

'Maybe yes, maybe no, who knows and time's ticking away.'

'Trust her.' He shot and turned to face the man. Their eyes met halfway across the room. Anton smiled bitterly.

'I trust her.' He said slowly.

'But?'

'I don't know' he looked away 'if that's enough.'

Once again silence fell. Harry felt almost compelled to do something. So instead he pushed his hair back and glanced at Draco, who was fidgeting in his seat and toying with his cup. Probably sensing his gaze, the blonde looked up, face blank yet eyes alert, sad.

'He's right, you know' he nodded his head towards Anton '… it's been too long.'

'Look.' Harry sighed. 'I know about Muggle transportation a tad more than any of you. Trains get delayed, buses get stuck in a traffic, shit happens.' He almost choked on the last two words. It probably had something to do with finding a DVD copy of Trainspotting at four am and then binge-watching all Danny Boyle films straight into morning. Now his head was full of swearwords, innuendos and really tasteless pun.

'Yeah.' Anton shook his head like a dog trying to get water out of its fur 'It's plausible. What about them, though?'

'How would we…' Harry bit his lower lip 'If we were to find them…' his voice trailed off once again 'How do you look for people?'

'What?' Anton's eyebrow shot up.

'How do you…dunno, track people? Magic-wise?'

'There are…spells.'

'Are they traceable? Hermione and Bellatrix?'

'Unless they're in some magic-proof place, or there're certain enchantments on, like in Hogwarts, they ought to be.'

'Could we trace them?' excitement flooded him.

'What if it blows their cover?' Draco cut in, sharply, eyes thunderous.

'It's worth the risk.' He answered meekly. He was not really certain, but surely anything was better than nothing, right?

'Oh is it?' the blonde drawled icily. 'Speedy Harry, wondrous Harry, Harry the white knight in shining armor, always rushing in to save the day… Not thinking about the consequences.'

'Can it.' He found himself snapping. Shut your trap you dumbass, you know shite. Two pairs of eyes locked into him 'Look' he added apologetically 'let's set a deadline, or something. If your mum isn't back by, dunno, tomorrow morning, we go look for her. She went to Cambridge. People get stuck in places. She has no phone. Blimey, she probably hasn't got a clue as to how does one use it, so it'd take her much longer to get around. But' he pointed his finger 'if she's not back by morning, I'll –' he cut himself off.

Was it really such a grand idea to go looking for Madame Malfoy? Wouldn't it be better to send someone else? They've sent so many people out there, and none has reported back. Snape was kind of missing. Hermione and Bellatrix were probably too. Now, Narcissa had gone out solo and she was running late. It felt like a stupid horror movie. Instead of sticking together, they were splitting up.

And inadvertently getting lost.

Bollocks. How many more? Should they split up or should they search? How should be sent out there?

'What?' Draco's voice cut into his musings. The blonde finally stood up and stretched. His joints popped and he exhaled loudly through his nose. He picked his cup up, lifted it and examined in the lamplight. For split seconds he looked as though he was marveling at the mysteries of the magical universe. Then he shifted his gaze and looked him dead in the eye. There was no malice in those palely irises, merely extreme exhaustion and some amount of immense sadness 'You'll go on your own?'

'I –' he began, but had nothing sensible to say, so he snapped his jaw shut. He removed his glasses and wiped them with his shirt and then put them back on. It was stalling, but a stalling he was used to. Being bespectacled had its pros. 'Look' he cleared his throat 'it's bad we're splitting up. But then again we can't go all out, can we? I know how the Muggle world works.'

'You can't go solo, boy.' Anton drawled grumpily 'Not only you're on his hit list, the Undesirable Number One, but also you're a kid in the Muggle world's eye, aren't you?'

He was learning. Anton, the notorious Death Eater, was actually learning the quirks the world he had so despised not so long ago. Truly, how the world moved, was a marvel unparalleled by anything.

'Yeah, but the more we split –' he began, but Draco cut him off.

'You'll go under disguise. Not magical. Muggle. You do have ways, don't you?' the blonde then shifted his gaze to Anton. 'And you'll go with him.' He walked towards the sink and finally let go off the cup. He placed it gently and looked at it for some time 'If Mother's not back, that is.' He added in a mournful whisper.

It was truly a horrendous situation.


	36. Life, Interlinked

She threw up, forehead sticky against the cellar wall. Her stomach was empty, though, so she spat out the bile and bit her lip.

And then she reeled and choked and gasped and nothing made sense anymore and ohshitohshitohshit how much more can I take it and fuck this fucking shit and Bellatrix and…

What the heck? Bellatrix?

It kind of cleared her head, at least to the point when she was able to rub her eyes with the back of her hand and stand up on shaky legs. She turned around, world spinning before her, a nightmare turned into a reality, treason upon treason (wasn't it supposed to be easier? Take out Voldemort before he exposes the Wizarding World to the Muggles? Stop the Muggle conspirators? Die?), and forced herself to look at the woman in question.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the wall, her eyes huge and her frame small. She was observing her with something that resembled fear, pity and… something immensely warm. It was genuinely disturbing and magnificent, simultaneously.

'…Hermione?' the question was voiced quietly.

She had no answer, truth be told. Instead she staggered towards the other woman and sunk to her knees. She knew she looked a mess. A horrendous, disgusting mess of a human being. Something in her, probably the last shred of dignity, screamed at that, protested furiously and berated her for being so obnoxiously weak.

Especially in the eyes of a woman who loathed weakness with all her might.

Awesome leadership skills, Granger. Awesome. You might as well as drop dead and cut it out with all that crap.

She forced herself to take a deep breath. She pushed her hair back from her forehead and rubbed her cheeks. Oddly, her flesh felt cold and clammy, like a dead thing's. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand. She wiped her hands against her hips. She cleared her throat. She blinked. She licked her lips. She was clinging to those small actions, as though they were a lifeline of sorts. And each time she did one thing, she thought about it. All her focus narrowed to the present. Inhale, exhale, get a grip, measure your strengths (what strengths, are you deluding yourself you worthless piece of crap? a tiny, icy voice in the back of head leered at that and she shuddered like a beaten dog), check out your surroundings (it's a bloody cellar, you dumb bitch, can't you even realize that?).

She shook her head. Whatever the voice was, it wasn't helping. She was torn between self-pity and self-hatred, and she needed to focus.

Probably, though, and it was her own thoughts that betrayed her now, they were doomed. She went back in time, by accident, yes, but she had hoped to change things and nothing really changed. The mess was only unraveling, new twists, new facts, new information, new betrayals, all the effort was truly in vain. Was Schopenhauer right? The past was fixed in stone? The flow of events was truly determined by the reality itself?

Fatalism, how she hated that. Never a fan, and now here she was, trying and failing everything.

Unless... it struck her, struck her hard and made her recoil, as though from a snakebite, unless she didn't go back in time enough. Maybe she had arrived too late? Maybe the fine line between doom and salvation had been..earlier.

But when? When did that start?

Maybe she should find a way to go back a hundred years? But to mess with the timeline meant she could actually undo more than just this apocalypse.

Or maybe... maybe time was a fixed line, one you could not alter?

She remember from a book, that before Christianity, mankind believe time to be circular, a vicious circle of apocalypse and world reborn from the ashes. And maybe it was so? Maybe they were headed for an ending so that there could be a beginning? Or maybe the straight line of time was unfixable?

Her head was spinning. She was spinning. Thoughts, too many of them, flooding her. She needed to be in the moment. She couldn't dwell on what ifs and maybe nots.

'I'm sorry.' She said. She had no words. Nothing made sense anymore. Not even language itself.

'Were they…?' the woman tried again and swallowed, visibly, harshly. 'Was it your father they…?'

She had no words. She nodded, slowly, tentatively and suddenly the words came out spilling, a torrential downpour of apologies 'I'm sorry. Maybe you were right about Muggleborns. I'm so sorry. I never meant for this to happen.' And 'I wish I had never been accepted to Hogwarts.'

And she was cut off. A hand, placed firmly on her lips, eyes boring into hers, ablaze with something fierce and mesmerizing.

'Do. Not. Apologize.'

She tried to argue. She tried to move her lips against the woman's palm, warm and oddly soft, but all that escaped past the gag, was strangled noises, broken sobs and unintelligible mumblings.

'It's not your fault, Hermione.' Bellatrix all but snarled at her 'Stop that.'

She shook her head, but the hand on her lips never moved away.

'Be quiet.' The older woman said. 'It is not your fault.' The chocolate-black eyes were boring into her very soul 'It's not your fault.' She repeated huskily. 'You did no wrong.'

And finally she relented. It might have been hours, might have been minutes, but she found herself nodding.

It was not her fault.

Or was it?

They were sitting side to side, their shoulders grazing, against the wall. Bellatrix's legs were stretched long, her own were pressed into her chest, her left arm encircling her knees. It was not a comfortable position, but it was comforting.

'What do we do now?' Bellatrix broke the silence.

'I don't know.' She said instantaneously. It had been her mantra for the last, what was it, hours? Anytime Bellatrix asked something, she would come up with the very same answer. Truly, though, she knew nothing. Her mind was utterly blank. And it was probably the most alarming sensation she had ever felt.

Even in the bleakest of conditions, even mortally wounded, even leading the last of her people into a frenzied defense of the remnants of her world, her mind would work. It was both a blessing and a curse. Permanently acutely aware of her surroundings, strategizing every waking moment, taking in the scenery, analyzing details, scrutinizing others, thinking, planning, remembering, she had always been stuck in the wondrous inferno of hypersensitivity.

And for the first time there was nothing. Just silence drowning in everything it its wake.

Was this how Dementor's Kiss worked on its victims? This immense vastness and blankness and this sensation of pure destitute – was this how its victims existed?

She shook her head. If she was to be so useless, she could as well as be dead. Even if they were doomed, and most certainly they were (all in vain, right?), she would not go down without as much as a noise.

Gryffindor courage or maybe simply the terrible Granger pride, whatever it was, it was beckoning her to get a move on.

'We need' she mumbled, lips wooden, numb and swollen 'a plan.'

'Very much so.' The other woman scoffed at that 'And here I thought you were the brilliant one.'

She tried to smile, but her face was weirdly stiff.

'Shut up.' She croaked in a very failed attempt at levity 'I can't think straight anymore.'

'This happens only to the lesser men.' The older woman observed snidely. 'You are a fighter, Granger. I've seen you. I know you.'

She turned her head only to see Bellatrix looking back at her, something resembling pride on her face.

'You think so?'

'Oh I know so.' The woman shrugged 'Look, girl, I was raised in a family of warriors. I lived my entire adult life as a warrior. And I can tell a fierce thing apart from meekly sweet lambs.'

If she could blush, she probably would have had. Alas, she was too exhausted to accept flattery with any shame. It felt natural, the woman's words. Like an acknowledgement into a certain family.

She swallowed, lost for words once again. Becoming a custom, is it? Me speechless. She almost smiled.

'Stop that.' The woman instantly retorted. And Hermione could not help herself. It was an automatic reaction. She smiled. Grinned, actually, baring her teeth, feeling giddy and lightheaded. Despite the predicament they were in, smiling seemed like the right thing to do. If, of course, there still existed things that were right and things that were wrong. Lines have blurred, this one singular thing was certain.

Suddenly they were facing each other, faces only inches apart. She could feel Bellatrix's suddenly speeded breath on her nose and cheeks. She swallowed and saw the woman follow the action. There was a speck of dust on the woman's chin. Without thinking she reached out, tentatively as though approaching a wild animal, and touched her chin with her index finger. Slowly, cautiously, she removed the speck of dust or filth, or whatever it was. The woman never flinched. She could feel, however, Bellatrix's shivering.

Or was it her own?

As though on its volition, her hand moved and suddenly she palming the woman's jaw. Bellatrix's eyes were glued to hers, trepidation mixed with something that could have been…yearning and tenderness, if she was reading correctly.

'…I' the woman suddenly breathed, her lips quavering, her face contorting into a mask of pure terror. Hermione tried to pull her hand back, instantly, but then saw the woman's gaze gluing itself to her lips.

The world stood suddenly still. She could her the thundering of her heart. Or was it solely her heart? Maybe together they were, here, on the threshold of something… Unreal. Impossible.

She inched closer, her hand still resting on the woman's jaw.

'It's okay' she breathed back at her. She inched even closer. Bellatrix's lips were red, full, and trembling.

'What are we…?' the woman's whisper was broken.

'Dunno.' She whispered back.

And then Bellatrix moved closer and closed the distance.

And they were kissing.

It felt like being electrocuted. It felt like drowning. Their lips mashed against each other. It was a slow, careful kiss. Wet, quite sloppy. Tongue-less and oddly innocent. She could feel Bellatrix's hand travel to her hair. The palms was trembling. The woman was trembling. They were trembling and the kiss was slow and scared and full of inexplicable tenderness.

And then they pulled away, forehead against forehead. The kiss probably had lasted moments. It was chaste. Like a first kiss.

It was a first kiss, of sorts.

And then they pulled back fully. Hermione opened her eyes and saw the woman blinking furiously. She expected… Anger. Fury. Panic.

All she got was a broken grin. One she reciprocated.

And then they were laughing.

'You are terrible at romance, Granger.' Bellatrix snorted. 'Kissing me in a dingy cellar? I should have had the brains to kill you when I could.'

'Oh, stop complaining, Black.' she retorted smoothly, still unable to believe what had just transpired.

'What do we do now, Granger?' Bellatrix snapped, but without any bile. It felt natural, this tit-for-tat, compliment-for-smack down thing they were having.

'Dunno.' She said, shrugging despite some faint throbbing in her right shoulder. 'Shall we break out?'

'Pray tell me: how do you wish to achieve that?'

'Classical Muggle way.' She almost sing-sang, and then giggled.

Yes, she was falling apart. This was evident.

'Which is?'

'Dig a tunnel.' And upon saying that out loud, she laughed. It was bitter, it was insane, and it was a way to cope.

'Are you losing it?' their eyes met. Bellatrix was looking at her with concern mixed with amusement, question burning in her gaze.

'No.' she calmed down 'Or yes. Or maybe. Thing is, Bella, I no longer know.'

Saying her name out loud normally would have resulted in Bellatrix's smoldering rage. The woman ignored it, though, as if it was something natural. Granger and Bella. Bellatrix and Hermione. This was the new reality.

Probably the very symbol of doom impending.

'Think, Muddy, think.' Bellatrix murmured and stood up. Instantly she felt the loss of heat. Her shoulder prickled and her skin exploded with goosebumps. 'We can't go crazy right now.'

She sighed, and pushed her hair out of her face. It became a tangled, sweaty mess. She could feel all the curls going crazy, a darkish fountain of unkempt waves rolling down her shoulders, falling on her forehead, like Medusa of old days.

'We need a plan.' She finally consented. 'We need a good one, at that.'

'Yes, Muddy.' Bellatrix was pacing now.

'The thing is…' she hesitated 'that things don't add up now.' She was thinking out loud, fixing her gaze onto her nails and narrowing her eyes 'See, the thing is, that before I set out, and by that I mean…mini-me, you know, the young me –'

'Quit rambling, I understand.' The woman cut in, her pace brisk and her face contorted in a thoughtful grimace.

'- Yes, so I erased my parents' memories. You do already know that. They're somewhere in Australia, unaware of ever having a daughter.' She cleared her throat. Yeah, it still hurt, despite all the betrayal and unpredictable twists, the act of no longer being a daughter pained her to no end. She cleared her throat once again, feeling Bellatrix's scrutiny. 'How on Earth would…would they maintain a form of contact? He should be, my dad that is, missing for several months now. They should be looking for him… Shouldn't they? I mean…unless there's a doppelgänger of my dad's out there…'

'This isn't very possible.' Bellatrix remarked dryly. 'Unless Muggles have some sort of… -'

'Cloning device' she cut in 'And there isn't one. That's why' she looked at Bellatrix, who was standing now, hips canted and head tilted to the side 'this doesn't make any sense. Who's running the research? Where the crap is my dad?'

'Unless someone removed your Obliviate, Muddy.' Bellatrix narrowed her eyes 'You sure you casted it well?'

'Positive. My casting skills have always been…fine, to say the least.'

'Modest, are we?' the woman smiled curtly, something of bemusement in her eyes.

'Don't derail me, now.' She shook her head 'Look, it makes no sense. Unless someone broke the spell.'

'That would mean your Muggle-loving, wizard-hating friends have a wizard working alongside them.'

'… That Marigold woman?' she was suddenly on her feet.

Their conversation was cut off. Someone was walking down the stairs. They both stood up, side by side, facing the door.

'Stand back!' a gruff masculine voice barked the order 'I've a gun, ladies. Back against the wall, hands on your head, now.'

The accent was amiss.

'American.' Hermione hissed under her breath. 'C'mon.'

They did as they were told.

'Facing the wall!' the man barked another order and suddenly a beam of light penetrated the cellar. He was using a flashlight, and a strong one at that. 'Don't move an inch!'

They heard the crate creak open and he stepped in.

'All right, Billy. C'mon down here.' He yelled and soon another footsteps thundered down the stairs.

The two men entered the cellar.

'We gonna cuff you.' The first man informed them. 'Put your hands to your back.'

They complied once again. Hermione held her breath. She felt a pair of hands grab her wrist, them something clicked, cold and hard, and then her hands were bind together. The man stepped back, grabbed her forearm and pulled her towards her.

'We going out.' He told her 'Be good. I don't wanna kill ya.'

They were marched out of the cellar and up the stairs. Soon the air grew colder. They were outside and it was pitch black. She could smell something intense. Moors, she recognized in a heartbeat. They were out in the open, somewhere further from the mansion than she had predicted. She could remember, albeit not very clearly, a document she had once read, something about the family's properties.

Wine cellars.

'What now, Muggles?' she almost started when she heard Bellatrix's drawl. It was menacing and bored at the same time. However the woman could pull that off, it was an amazing spectacle. 'Will you kill us now or do we have to wait a tad longer?'

'No one's killing anyone.' The man who was holding Hermione, probably the boss of the entire operation, answered her calmly. His accent was strong and his voice was gruff, low, but not entirely unpleasant. 'We're in for a road trip.' He informed them disinterestedly.

'But where's the car, Big John?' the other man, Billy, if she remember correctly, asked him. He must have been young and pretty nervous; she could hear it in the sharpness of his pitch, in certain quavering quality his voice held.

'Relax, Billy.' The man sighed 'And shut your trap.'

They stood in silence. Hermione lifted her head and looked up at the sky. It was clear. She could see the stars. Peculiar sense of serenity washed over her. She might have been captured, cuffed, and the entire world might have gone to shit, but it still was exquisitely beautiful. Crystal clearness of the ear, the scent of moors, the slight wind that smelled of winter and – somehow – the sea, the stars that seemed distant yet so close, bright and innumerable – it was all spectacular and glorious and the world was something to be loved.

Mankind made it shitty, she thought. In itself, it was a wonder upon wonders. A lonely planet in a Solar System, which contained life itself. Oxygen-breathing, reproducing in numerous ways life, which moved, which grew, which changed, which ended – a miracle unparalleled in the known universe. She thought of viruses, bacteria, cells, amoebas, plants, animals, men, and thought how they were all interlinked with one another, sharing those traits (save for viruses, she remember with a fond smile:

A sun-filled classroom, speckles of dust revolving slowly in the air, the blackboard, Miss Stevens in a pink blouse and a proper brown pencil skirt, hair tucked neatly in a bun, May, warmth, a notebook lying on her desk, which was flooded with sunlight it made reading almost impossible, Peter Grayes on her right, Amanda Bockles on her left and her bestie, Eve McDonalds, in front of her, a blonde braid falling down her back, biology lesson – remember, children – Miss Stevens always called them children, as though they were little – viruses are not quite alive, they're alive but they're not alive at the same time…)

A rumbling of an engine shook her out of her musings. She turned. A car was approaching. In the pale light of its headlights, the world looked sharp and unreal and she could see Bellatrix's outline and how milky-white her skin seemed. She swallowed hard, fighting against this sensation of eeriness growing in the pit of her stomach. It was of no use, she had to be focused. She had to be tough.

The car stopped and the backseat doors opened. It turned out to be a van.

'Step in.' a man's voice spoke out 'We're going for a ride. We're going to Cambridge.'


	37. Oh Glorious Town

Muggles were buzzing around her, quite like flies on summer evenings, speeding somewhere, yet constantly going in circles. If one were to sit back and observe their surroundings, one would finally come to a conclusion, that all movement was quite erratic in its nature. Take the man, for instance. Clad in a V-neck shirt of some sort, navy blue, at that, and white linen pants, he was talking to someone on that device – what was it called? Cellular phone – and walking somewhere with the briskness of someone who knew where they were headed. Did he really know, though? He was just a pawn on a huge chessboard, where bigger figures plotted their wars – yet only to be controlled by the players. Whom, in turn, did someone else control?

It was as though whoever you were, you would serve somebody in the end. No one was free.

She sipped on her coffee, taking in her surroundings with sudden acuteness. She was a young girl, freshly out of school, when her parents married her to Lucius. Back in Hogwarts, he was just a boy, a boy with a straight back, blonde hair and a rather pompous sneer on his lips, quite beautiful, but a little to effeminate for her tastes. She liked her men broader, more haggard, ruff even. Had anyone asked her whether she wanted to marry Lucius – or go after that raven-haired Ravenclaw with unkempt hair and dark gray eyes and sharp features, the one who played Quidditch and was a Chaser, all bulky mass of muscles and some feline agility in his movements? The answer was negative. She had never even met the boy in person. Never actually learned his name. He was a Half-Blood, a son of a wizard, who strayed from the paths of what was right, and married a Muggle, thus condemning the boy to the existence of mediocrity.

She had Draco not because she wanted to – even though now the boy, the man, was her world, her child and her man at the same time – but because it was something that simply had to happen. Both their families pressured them into having a child, pressured without even saying a word. Rules and obligations ran wordlessly, the world their oyster as well as a gilded cage.

This…mess, for the lack of a better word, has now led her to this very point. She was drinking a coffee in a very Muggle coffee shop in a very Muggle town, on a stakeout, like a common scoundrel rather than a proper lady she had been raised to become.

But what was proper? Things had lost their meaning somewhere along the way. Some words had become obsolete, like the purity of blood, or Pureblood, Mudblood – they were just sounds, sounds deprived of meaning.

All the duty that there remained was to save the world. And not just them, not just Purebloods, not even the wizards, but everyone. Each and every single one of them had to be saved.

Because, in the end, this was what right had always been about. This, and the sanctity of life.

Yes, all life was sacred. She knew that now.

And so, Narcissa Malfoy sipped her coffee and waited for Marigold to show up.

She checked the clock behind the counter. It was four in the afternoon and the woman she was supposed to meet, was already running late. She sighed and ordered yet another drink, this time tea. She pondered at the menu. Muggles ate weird things. Some of those things she could not even name. Kale salad. Onion rings. Chicken and pesto Panini. Foods that sounded exotic. Hamburgers and soy hamburgers. She licked her lips.

In the end she decided to order one of those Paninis. They resembled sandwiches, and even though Narcissa Malfoy did not deem them lady-like, she was hungry. And she knew how to eat them.

Her thoughts were straying as weariness crept in. She thought of Anton and his darkly handsome face. It struck her now how much did he resemble that Ravenclaw boy she had fancied all those years ago. Her stomach churned and suddenly she found herself feeling slightly lightheaded, giddy almost.

Am I falling?

It scared her. Scared her well beyond anything else, the idea of giving her heart to another, having freshly buried a husband she never really loved (but eventually grew fond of him, used to him), was something she found terrifying and, at the same time, exhilarating.

'Well, hello.' A voice shook her out of her musings. She flinched, hard, and looked up, immensely embarrassed.

Marigold was standing in front of her, a Muggle coat draped around her, a bag resting on her crooked elbow. She wore strong makeup, yet Narcissa could see she looked tired. There was something in her eyes, not quite the darkness she noticed in Hermione's eyes, but still they also carried this shade of someone who was forced to deal with hardships. She felt no pity, though.

'Miss Marigold' she nodded in acknowledgement, her voice icy and even 'do have a seat. Has anyone ever told you tardiness is unbecoming?'

'A girl's got to eat.' The woman retorted smoothly, a faint grimace showing on her lips 'And thus a girl's got to work.' She sat down and placed her palms upside down on the table, the tips of her fingers touching. Her back was ramrod straight, yet her shoulders were slightly hunched.

'Would you like make an order, then?' it was only polite to ask and Narcissa would rather be dead than ill mannered.

'No, thank you.' The woman shook her head 'Feel free, though.' She nodded her head towards the approaching waitress.

The Panini was indeed a sandwich.

And thus the trouble arose. A lady does not eat with her hands, not once, not ever, yet she was not served any cutlery. The world might have been falling apart, yes, but if one were to prevail, one ought to save basic principles, or nothing would be left.

She sensed Marigold's gaze, amused, cool and understanding.

'It's a Muggle world.' The woman said the 'm' word in hushed tones 'And the rules are less strict. It's a coffee shop.' She added in an afterthought.

'Thank you.' Narcissa drawled 'Your observations are most acute.'

The woman smiled. 'Unless you would like to continue discussing table manners, Madame Malfoy, maybe we should cut down to the business. Shall we?' the smile grew larger and much less pleasant. Her eyes were cold and bottomless and her neatly coiffed her oddly dark against her skin.

'Please do.' Gently, Narcissa lifted the accursed object, hot against her fingers, and carried it to her lips. She took a bite, or rather nibbled at the Panini. Slowly, cautiously, she chewed. It was crude, but wasn't bad.

'Do you have questions you would like to ask?' the woman leaned forward, her eyes scanning the room 'We're friendless here' she added with a tiny smirk 'and quite anonymous.'

'Granger.' She immediately shot up 'Mister Granger. Is he here?'

The woman smiled in returned and shifted back in her seat.

'Mister Granger.' She repeated slowly, as though tasting the words on her lips 'The bigheaded, handsome Muggle scientist. Our lovely friend's beloved papa.'

'Him.' Narcissa acknowledged with increasing annoyance 'Could you please stop playing around, Miss Marigold? It's cold, it's late, I'd rather be someplace else than here.'

'Yes.' The woman answered immediately.

'How -?' it was a silly question and a one she couldn't really form. Instead, she just took another bite of the sandwich.

Marigold watched her chew.

'See' the woman finally spoke up 'he's either a fool, or a genius.'

'Excuse me?' she swallowed harshly and almost choked.

'How do you call a man who sells out his own daughter?' the woman cocked her head 'A dentist who's also a scientist, but keeps the last part a secret from his wife and daughter. Lives a double life…but seems to be completely unaware of the consequences of his actions.'

'Excuse me?' she repeated hoarsely, her throat burning, raw.

'Madame Malfoy' the woman sighed with faux annoyance 'of course he's here. And he's either the biggest idiot on the face of the planet, who had not a single clue as to what's really happening, or he's the puppet master who's been orchestrating the whole thing since nineteen seventy nine.'

'Nineteen seventy nine?'

'That's when his daughter was born.'

Narcissa stilled. 'How…how do you know?'

The woman merely toyed with the sleeves of her coat.

'I've talked to him.' She admitted after a while. 'On numerous occasions.'

'What is happening?' the question slipped past Narcissa's lips before she even had a chance to stop herself. Her throat burned once again, this time more strongly. She cleared it, but it didn't help. She took a sip from her coffee, but nothing changed.

Strange, how tight her throat was suddenly feeling.

A realization struck her. 'Have you…' she was choking a bit now 'poisoned me?'

The woman's eyebrow shot up 'Are you serious?'

'My…throat…' Narcissa gulped her coffee. She could feel how labored her breath had become. Slowly but surely she was dissolving into a state of panic.

'What's in that Panini?' Marigold suddenly looked serious 'What did you order? Focus!' the last word was spoken urgently.

'Something called pesto?' she was gasping now, her body doused with cold sweat, the room spinning, her stomach clenching painfully, her bowels moving all of the sudden. She couldn't breathe. She was choking.

'You're not -?' Marigold stood up from her chair 'Oh bollocks, you are!'

'What…?'

'Allergic to pine nuts, you idiot! You're having an allergic reactions, for fuckssake.'

The room was spinning and she was clawing at her throat, constricted and raw. She could hear the rattling of her own breathing and it scared her even more.

'We need an ambulance… a possible anaphylactic reaction…' the woman was speaking on the phone 'Trumpington Street… yes, do hurry up… No, nothing…'

Her vision was blurring. Someone put a hand on her shoulder.

'Calm down.' A female voice told her 'They're coming. Help's on its way. Relax.'

And everything went pitch-black.

There were bright lights. White and searing, they blinded her the moment she opened her eyes. She was staring at a white ceiling. Something was beeping beside her, a slow and steady rhythm consisting of sharp noises. She inhaled, suddenly remembering the suffocating sensation she had felt – and the beeping grew sharper, sending her into a state of panic.

'Calm down!' someone ordered sharply, yet the voice was not unpleasant. 'You are safe, ma'am, calm down.'

She turned and saw a man in a white coat, something hanging around his neck, two pieces of metal and one bigger slob. He was tall and young and wore glasses and his hair was dull brown.

'Hi' the man smiled meeting her eyes 'I'm doctor Everett. It's nice to see you wake up, Mrs. …Franklyn?'

Mrs. Franklyn?

Oh? Oh. Oh!

'What's happened?' she demanded, her voice hoarse and her throat dry and sore, yet free – and, oh such a relief it was – and she could breathe normally. 'Where am I?'

'You are in Addenbrooke's Hospital.' The man burst eagerly into explanation. 'You have been treated for an acute anaphylactic reaction to pine nuts. You're fine now. We've shot you with adrenaline and added additional antihistamines to help and even you out.'

'Oh.' She said, unsure of how to tread next 'Was it bad?'

'Quite so.' The doctor (was he a healer of sorts? Was she in St Mungo's for Muggles?) was nodding cheerfully.

It made no sense until she realized he was…young, and therefore soon after his training. Major cases probably excited him more than they would anyone with more experience. Which was good, an older…doctor…would have asked her more questions.

'Err…' the doctor looked at a piece of paper he held in a clipboard in his left hand 'the administration' he mumbled apologetically 'will have some questions, I fear, concerning your… err… identification... It seems like we're a little at loss here.'

Here goes.

'Is there an issue?' she thundered in the most menacing way she could muster while lying on a hospital bed… in some dreadful, paper-ish white gown, which didn't even cover her thighs.

'I'm sure there's not.' The man's smiled diminished and he took a step backwards. 'You know' he tried again 'they tend to mess things up, Mrs. Franklyn. Oh' he lifted his finger 'by the way, you have a visitor. Two visitors, actually.'

The man, who followed Marigold in, was tall and handsome, with jagged features, sensual lips and graying hair…hair, which used to be chestnut. She swallowed. She might have never seen the man himself – but she had seen, quite a lot of, his very much similar offspring.

Hermione's father closed the distance between the door and the bed in few brisk strides. He bent down, looked her in the eye and asked one icy question.

'Where is my daughter?'


	38. Love's Labor Lost?

Cambridge. He wore blue contacts and he had dyed his hair brown late in the evening. Or at least brown it said on the bottle. The real deal on his hair was…looking as though someone chewed up on coal, mixed it with Coke, got sick and vomited the tuna-tomato pasta they had eaten before. The moment when Dolohov and Draco saw him, they snickered. His hair was brown-ish, black-ish, red-ish, a combination so fierce and so crappy, he stood ramrod stiff and stared at himself in the mirror.

'Screw this.' He said and turned to look at Malfoy, sorry, Draco, who was snickering behind him 'Cut my hair.'

'What?'

'Cut it. Cut it off. All of it.'

'But' the blonde's jaw dropped, his eyes resembling saucer and usual composure gone gracelessly 'the Git-Who-Lives' trademark are his tresses…'

'I'll be a bald blue eyed Git Who Doesn't Die. C'mon, Malfoy.'

'I don't have a wand.'

'Take those.' He handed him the scissors he had found in one of the bathroom drawers 'and that' he handed him the razor that had been lying beside the scissors. 'I'll talk you through, don't worry.'

'Elves' work.'

'Don't let Hermione hear ya. She'll throw a tantrum.'

'Wouldn't've risked that for the life of me.'

And so a bald blue-eyed Harry Potter clad in Hermione's father old winder coat (and looking like he tried and failed to join the Beat Generation's great vagabond poets and winded up hooked on heroine), followed closely by leather-jacket rocking, combed-back-hair glistening Dolohov (who looked like tried and failed to join Rammstein) walked out of the door on four thirty am the next morning, to catch the five fifteen train to Cambridge, a spectacle beyond any other. They were bid farewell by Hermione (annoyed) and Draco (amused and anxious simultaneously), entered the cab and sped away towards train station.

The plan was awesome. Harry was a high school alumni checking out Cambridge as a possible university (English or liberal arts, he tried to pull mathematics and law off, but was discouraged by Hermione's bellow of hysterical laughter) and Dolohov was a punk-rock Oxford-drop-out cousin, too high to make much sense. They would creep around, find out what happened to Narcissa, hang around the bars, pubs and coffee shops, snoop around the university (maybe the surname Granger would somehow appear somewhere), collect Narcissa and leave the same evening.

Unlike Narcissa, they had a cell. Were something to go awry, they would call home, inform Hermione of the mishap and patiently wait for either a shitstorm of Itoldyousos or a brilliant evacuation plan.

Mildly sleepy they boarded the train, Anton instantly nodded off (as though his first ever Muggle train ride was nothing of a deal) and Harry was left alone to his (dark) musings.

He was brooding. Like his fifteen-year-old self, he would find himself immersed in a pool of self-pity and despair. Maybe, all those years ago, The Daily Prophet was a bit right and he had both a hero complex and some misguided need for validation by performing heroic deeds.

Without the limelight and Dumbledore's approving gaze, saving the world was a shitty ordeal. Sometimes it was boring, sometimes it was cold, sometimes it made no sense – and most of the time it was simply frightening. Back in Hogwarts there had always been backup. Someone would find him. Someone would save him. Even in his fourth year, there a Portkey to take him back to safety, if only he made it. Being a hero, when you're always kind of safe, even if it feels like you're in real peril, was easy. There was Madam Pomfrey to stitch him up together, Dumbledore to explain the real meaning of everything, teachers to adore him or protect him, and other students to support him.

And being on his own sucked.

They were running around in circles, truth be told. It was already one pm and they were hungry and annoyed. There was no sight of Narcissa Malfoy – or Marigold for that matter. It's as though the Earth had opened and swallowed up the two women.

On the other hand he knew that the mission was as prone to success as a search for a needle in a haystack. By one thirty pm they unanimously decided to halt the search and eat something. They entered a rather plain looking coffee shop. It wasn't very crowded, with honey-brown and green walls, low lights, film posters and photographs, round tables and chairs puffy chairs. Behind the polished counter stood a boy, his face marred with acme scars, his gaze bored – or melancholic.

'Hello' Harry started and looked at Anton, who was staring at sandwiches behind a glass display by the counter 'we…err… I'll have a… medium latte and…err…' he took a step back and looked at the sandwiches 'Pesto Panini.' He threw Anton a quick look.

'Same.' The man barked and pushed his fists into his pants.

'Sure.' The boy nodded and suddenly leaned over the counter and asked confidentially 'you be careful with those, you know?'

'Why? What's wrong with them?' Anton's voice went down a notch and Harry found himself looking around the coffee shop, as though expecting attackers to pop out into thin air.

'A lady yesterday had a bad reaction to nuts.' The boy shrugged, visibly pleased with the impact his words had on his costumers 'I think she was someone important too.'

'How so?' he was genuinely disinterested in hearing the rest, but asked the question nonetheless.

'Very pretty, you know. Like a film star. Blonde, tall. Yum.'

Blonde? Tall? Pretty?

He forced himself not to look at Anton, whom he felt tense beside him.

'What happened to her?' he asked keeping his voice steady 'Was she alone?'

'Nah, she was with some redhead, pretty thing too.' The boy smiled lustfully and his gaze went soft, wet and quite disgusting. The unvoiced implication made Harry gag. 'The redhead called an ambulance.'

This did not sound good, not good at all. Narcissa Malfoy, a Pureblood clueless to the ways of the Muggle world, in a hospital, a place that wouldn't make any sense for her, was both a threat and was in precarious predicament. He wanted to ask more questions, but didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He looked to Anton, whose face was contorted in something that resembled curiosity, disgust and contempt.

'Women, eh.' The man suddenly barked at the boy and the barista shot him an understanding smile.

'Don't know how to handle the things they swallow, eh?' the boy snickered and Harry felt sick. Anton, though, kept a straight face.

'True. Did you get her name?' he asked noncommittally, like one may ask for weather or whether the bus has already left or not. 'I'd rather avoid talking her out for a date by accident.' He added with a leer.

'Didn't catch her first name. She goes by Franklyn, or something. Heard the redhead inform the paramedics.' The barista shrugged 'You here for a long haul?'

'Nah' Anton shrugged casually 'my cousin's just looking things up at the university.'

'Oh' the boy gawked at Harry with something of wonderment on his face 'you wanna study up here?'

'Dunno if I'll like it.' He swallowed, trying to sound casual, like the cool kids from his elementary school.

'You that good?'

'Hope so.'

'He's the history buff, that wanker.' Anton cut in with such an ease it sounded as though for the major part of his life he had been downing beers, playing bass and looking down at his studious younger cousin.

That man is good, bloody hell. The Dark Git's lieutenant knows his ways.

'I'm Tommy.' The barista smiled 'If you lads wanna have fun later on, I know just the place.'

'Do you?' Anton narrowed his eyes 'You gay?'

'Nay!' Tommy, the barista, lifted his palms in mock defense 'I just know the right place.'

'What do you mean?'

'You know' Tommy looked around as though checking whether someone had been eavesdropping 'last week my Honda had an oil leak. Had to stop, got out of the car, a man walks. He says: mate you have a fag? So I give him one and he tells me to be careful. I ask why and he says there's odd folk around. He was a little tipsy, mind you. Before I know he goes into this full story of professors working on weird shite at the university, he says he knows it all, because he knows a guy who knows a guy who works as a janitor on microbiology campus, and about how people disappear around the place and how the hospitals' policy goes strict… So we sit and chat and then he tells me: You're a good lad, and takes me to a bar. Many blokes, some nice girls, we chat.'

'Yeah?' Anton's gaze was oddly blank. Harry could feel his heartbeat, racing. This was it? There was an underground ring…?

'So they tell me there's a brotherhood around…' Tommy finished 'I thought you' he jerked his head towards Anton 'was the right kind of man for that kind of thing.'

'How so?'

'You're a tough one, aren't you?'

'Says who?'

'Easy, mate. I don't wanna start a brawl.'

'Don't be a wuss.' Anton cocked his head, his grin almost predatory now 'You sure you're not just a bunch of poofs?'

'Yeah.' Tommy retorted with a smile 'Positive. Mate, you ought to come. But don't take the young one. He doesn't have it. Sorry, mate.' His smile went insincere 'You stick to books, boy.'

'I'll be there. Just tell me where.'

'Are you sure it's the right idea?' they were bickering on their way to the campus. Anton sighed with annoyance.

'Remember she told us about some Muggle brotherhood?'

'Yeah, but –' he tried to argue, but was cut off.

'I will check it out. Maybe we'll hit a bull's eye.'

'What about me?' he felt once again like a whiny teenager, just two years ago, who would throw temper tantrum anytime he felt he was missing out of something. Growing up was shit, truth be told 'What do I do?'

'We check out the…university' the word sounded alien on Anton's lips. He sighed with exasperation 'Then we head over to the…hospitals. If we locate her, we whisk her out. You two head to the train station, while I go to that place. If she's not here, you call Draco and tell him what's happened so far, I go out, you wait at the station. Clear?'

'Crystal.' He mumbled back, annoyed.

It was cold. The sky was low, gray and the wind was slowly picking up, cold and oddly wet He watched several rotten leaves scatter on the pavement. Everything looked grim and dark, the houses almost crooked and the streets deserted. He bent forward against the wind and tucked his coat tighter around him. Winter was coming.

First drops of water fell from the sky. He cursed silently and picked up his pace. Anton, his jacket tightly drawn around him and his face locked off, speeded up as well. Shoulder to shoulder they were walking towards the university when suddenly Harry's phone vibrated in his pocket.

He stopped and pulled it out and checked the number on the screen. No caller id, it said. Cautiously, he clicked the green button and answered the phone.

'Hello?'

His gaze traveled to Anton, who was watching him somberly.

There was no answer, so he tried again.

'Hello?'

'…Harry?' a feeble female voice, distorted and somewhat eerie. He knew it, though.

'Madame Malfoy?' he saw Anton spin at that, alert like bloodhound picking up its prey's scent.

'…I need…talk…' her voice was broken and there were numerous buzzing sounds, as though she was slowly losing her reception.

'Talk? Talk to me!' he said, waving his hand around as though it would somehow help the signal.

'Hermione…talk to…' it was unclear whether she was referring to the older version of his friend, or his seventeen-year-old friend.

'Where are you? What's going on?' his voice shook and he felt his face pale. Anton's hand shot out and clasped his shoulder. It was a painful, strong grip, which somehow grounded him.

Left and right, they were losing people.

'Harry Potter?' a masculine voice spoke out all of the sudden 'Be there at 12 Beaumont Road. We need to talk.'

They decided to split up. Maybe it wasn't the brightest move, but, they argued, it made sense in case the address was actually a trap. Harry would look for Narcissa there, Anton would check out the pub. Maybe there were once again being led astray, but also maybe they had a real lead.

With heavy hearts, under pounding rain and sky dark and ominous, they bid their goodbyes. He shook Anton's hand and the man looked him dead in the eye. The aura was eerie. It felt as though they were seeing each other for the last time. He tried to shake off that feeling, but the icy wind that howled down the streets of a town so alien, and the rain and the clouds and how everything seemed dark and doomed, spoke heavily of the mess they were in.

'Take care of her, Harry Potter.' Anton said 'Take good care of her.'

'Don't get yourself killed.' He answered 'Be careful. They're Muggles. They might seem dumb, but –'

'I no longer believe them foolish.' The man cut in briskly 'I have already bore witness to the complexity of their world. It's a scary place.'

'Not all of them are… evil.' He argued hotly. They were stalling, both of them. 'Remember that.'

'That I already know too.' Anton smiled. 'It's time, Harry Potter. If either one's not back by tomorrow morning, the other, should they be alive too, shall consider them…what did you call it? Lost in action?'

'Missing in action.' He smiled back, despite everything 'Learn your vocabulary, Dolohov.'

'Until then, Harry.' The man nodded and turned away 'Be careful.'

'You too.'

To stop his hands from shaking, he thrust them into the pockets of his coat. He had never felt as lonely as at that precise moment. Whatever waited ahead could have been both his demise and his salvation. And there was no other way to know, but to step into the monster's lair.

Tommy Velasquez finished his shift and walked home. The new bloke was all right, if not a little odd with his gruff voice, gaunt face and the air of a murderer hanging around him.

He could be useful. For the oncoming Big Thing that man might have been just perfect. Hopefully the boss would agree with him at this. Then maybe, just maybe, he'd have a shot with Lou-Ann.

Lou-Ann. The sexy American from Los Angeles who had a snake tattoo on her right wrist and spoke of Arian Brotherhood and white power and how the nations were crumbling down because of colored people, would finally look at him with awe, once the job was done.

This he believed in. And so he pulled out his phone and, walking home, called his friend.

''S Tommy here' he said 'I think I've found you the right guy for the job.'


	39. North Star

Bang, bang, bang, bitches gonna hang.

What the fuck?

Bang, bang, bang, bitches gonna hang.

Fucking shit. Whatever the noise was, she felt compelled to destroy its source. Rip the blasted thing apart and burn its remains to cinders. Oh but no. On and on it went, terrible banging and equally horrific yells.

If that in fact is Muggle music, it should be banned. Under pain of death, she mused darkly, and forced herself to sit down. In the corner. Of a lovely basement.

Yes, there was a bed. A mattress thrown on the hard floor. A sort of makeship table: a stack of boxes covered by a moldy piece of cloth, stood beside it. The walls were bare and gray, and the source of light, something like a lamp only that much plainer, shone from the celling. As far as ugly acommodation went, this dingy little hole took the first prize.

Bellatrix Black was annoyed. At first she was, although she'd rather never ever discuss that again, scared. Then, she was sorry, because Granger took the news hard - and almost broke and it was unnerving and oddly heart-wrenching, and Bellatrix would Crucio the brains out of anyone who'd ever dare to talk about it. Or even mention it in passing.

Now, however, she was annoyed.

And Granger was absent.

The moment they arrived at their destination, they were blindfolded and walked out of the vehicle. The air was damp, there was some wind and tiny raindrops were falling from the sky. At least, though, they were out in the open space, breathing real air.

Like all things, this too came to an end, and Bellatrix and the girl were walked down some quite steep stairs. Then their blindfolds were removed, she got punched in the jaw for spitting on one of the Muggles (Granger actually had the audacity to laugh at that, that idiot) and the two of them were left alone.

She might have had kind of dozed off against Granger. The girl sat mum in the corner and there was no heating and Bellatrix was not a teenager anymore. And so, as though compelled by Imperius, Bellatrix found herself inching at a snail's pace towards the girl. Soon their shoulders were touching and Granger was radiating heat in absolute silence.

But the moment she tried to move away, as though having been jerked into wakefulness by her companion's silence, Granger put her arm around her shoulder and grounded her. Immobilized, she might have had considered hitting the girl for the good measure, but instead she went meek and found herself resting her head against...Hermione's...shoulder. It was very bony.

But also warm and strong and familiar. In a most unsettling way.

So Bellatrix fell asleep and woke up only to find Granger gone. And now the Muggles were invoking demons, judging by the terrible ruckus they were making.

First they walked.

Or rather: stomped aroud the first floor. Like pregnant elephants or trolls with a limp or drunken giants.

Then they were laughing.

And then that horryfing bang bang thing started.

If only she had wand, Bellatrix would have considered stunning herself to numb that nightmare. But since she had nothing, she simply set on sitting in the corner and casting hateful glances at the ceilling.

Time froze. Moments turned into hours and hours into some kind of eternity, where everything took longer than it ever did in the real world. She watched the steady movement of particles of dust. Whenever the Muggles upstairs stomped around more than usual, dust and sand would rain from the ceilling. The particles would revolve around each other, almost dancing in the yellow light.

She counted the boxes that made up the table. There five of them, three big ones, one middle-sized, one tiny, stabilzing a particularly bent one.

She picked her nails. She plotted all the creative ways in which she would murder each and every single Muggle.

Then she fell into some kind of stupor, staring blankly at the floor, her mind drifting miles and miles away.

And that's when the doors to the basement fell open with a terrible crash, Anton Dolohov looking like a deranged Muggle jogging down the stair.

'Dolly.' she blinked at him and his slick hair that glistened in the light.

'Bellatrix.' he nodded curtly 'Now that we're done with pleasantries, kindly get a move on.'

He walked to grab her arm but she hissed at him.

'She's not here.' he ignored her and pulled her up 'If you wanna help, we need to go. Now.'

'The Muggles?' she followed him up the stairs nonetheless.

'Pissed drunk.' he grabbed her by the elbow and pulled towards the door.

True to his word, a Muggle with pimply face and the expression of utter animalistic bliss, was munching at some golden crackers and when he saw them, he lifted his head, swallowed, managed to look alarmed for a moment and then continued eating.

'What is wrong with him?' she demanded sharply. The Muggle pig-boy was watching the wall. As though some unspeakable mysteries of the magical universe were appearing there, ready for him to read them.

'They all smoked something.' Dolohov muttered 'Nasty thing, smells like garbage.'

The passed two more Muggles in a poorly lit hallway, Dolohov opened the door and forced her outside.

It was the middle of the night, probably, and everything was pitch black. The wind was fierce and the rain heavy. As Dolohov pulled her further and further into the darkness, Bellatrix started shivering. He never stopped nor offered any more explanation. They were almost jogging now, the street narrow and wet, the cobblestones slippery and very cold. She put her arms around her and followed him through alien city.

Then the air changed. Bellatrix blinked and smelled the trees. They must have reached some kind of a park. And then it hit here, that there was not a single light. Anywhere.

'What is happening?' she shrieked at Dolohov, her frailed nerves finally catching up with her 'Is it Him?'

'No, it's not him.' the man stopped walked and turned to face her 'They' he probably meant the Muggles 'call it a power outage or something.' she heard him shrugged.

'Explain, Dolly.' she forced herself to sound as regal, as a Black should always sound 'Not the Muggle nonsense, but -'

'You've disappeared off the radar for a while' he cut in, his tone brisk and businesslike 'Narcissa met up with Marigold.'

Yet another idiot. All of them, running around like headless chicken, soon to get themselves -

'What happened?' she demanded sharply.

'She never made it back.' his answer was almost sheepish.

'So? What are you doing here?' she dreaded the answer, which she suspected she already knew.

'Well, Potter and I-'

'You blithering idiot!' she slapped him. Accidentaly. On the face.

Lovely, perfect and wonderful.

They were sitting in some nasty pigsty, where Muggle men with red faces and messy hair were drinking themselves into oblivion as their females, scarcely clad, where performing some mating rituals and writhing their bodies to the rythm of chaotic beats.

Dolohov bought them something he called vodka. It tasted like a poor version of Firewhiskey. She accepted another glass and listened on to the story.

After they went missing, Narcissa went after them. After she, in turn, went missing, Potter and Dolly went after her. Now Potter was missing.

'Good job.' she nodded her head at Dolohov 'Every inch the second leutenant. Lost two people, lost three people. Brava.'

'I've met the Muggles' leader.' he cut in, looking unabashed. 'And I've met this Yankee woman, who's an undercover someone.'

He was speeding too fast for her to catch on.

'Slow down, Dolly.' she looked around the room full of drunken Muggles and scowled. The filth. Once a filth, always a filth.

'There is this woman.' he sighed dramatically 'Who works for American government. Investigating, as she put it, social disturbences all across Europe.'

'Wait' she raised her hand to stop him 'So you're telling me, Dolly and correct me if I'm wrong, it's not just here?'

'No' he shook his head vehemently 'It's becoming global. Anyhow' he cleared his throat 'I struck a deal with her.'

'A deal? With a Muggle, what, a Muggle investigator?' that Muggle Firewhiskey was either strong, or she was out of practice. Or maybe both. She felt herself become lightheaded and decided to stop drinking.

'Information for information. It's not perfect.' his hair was beginning to stick out from that sleazy hairdo 'I know. But I do know Narcissa is safe from now, under the care of someone called Enesage.'

'Who on Earth is called Enesage?' oh yeah, she might have had overdone it a tad too much. She blinked and shook her head.

'Never mind. All I know is that she's safe. The Yankee thinks she plays the upper hand here.'

'Doesn't she?'

'Well' he smiled broadly 'she has no idea there's us. And she's very interested in some man that goes around by the name Granger.'

The world swayed and slowed, but Bellatrix knew better than to betray that particular piece of information to Dolohov. It felt...odd. Wrong. Like betraying intimacy of someone who has inadvertedly became...close. Important.

Oh yes, Bellatrix was tipsy and being tipsy, for the first time in many, many years, had left her dangerously...woozy.

'What of him?'

'Well' Dolohov smiled 'I convinced her I know someone who might help us get him.'

'Hermione?' she snarled at him, suddenly very protective and the prospect of breaking his nose was a pleasant one ideed.

'She'll help me fail at the job.' Dolohov looked bored 'In return' he leaned towards her and smiled wolfishly 'we kill her.'

She drummed her fingers against the table.

'Oh, Dolly.' she mocked him 'Always the knight in shining armor.'

'Tomorrow it's gonna be riots. I'd rather fail at the job.'

'Well, what is the job?' she sighed exasperatedly.

They're gonna burn a witch.'

'Excuse me?' she cocked her eyebrow 'What is this sixteenth century nonsense?'

He handed her another glass. She accepted and did the shot.

What an abysmal word.

'My money's on Hermione.'

'What?'

'She's the witch they're gonna burn.'

Lovely indeed.


	40. Whatever I Have Paid, It Wasn't Enough

The house was oddly cheerful. With its red bricks and green roof, gleaming windows and yellow door, it looked straight out of a fairy tale. A grandmother could live in such a little cozy house. The type one never meets, but always longs for. The wise ancient woman with bright eyes and kind words, who knew the world like the back of her hand and would always come up with a simple, yet brilliantly profound solution to any problem one might have.

And even in this dreary winter weather, with heavy sky rolling with iron clouds, feeble rays of sun never fully penetrating their shroud, sharp wind and a sense of decay hanging all around, the house looked warm. A solid thing in times of contempt. A safe haven.

The house belonged to hills. Standing atop a cliff, or on a vast and endless moor, it would become a perfect symbol of continuity or sense. Packed between two other houses, both gray and looming, it shrunk even more, out of place and almost out of time.

There was hearbreak to be found. A strange sorrow to bear, when beautiful things of times that never actually were, but always stayed closed to the heart, like a secret longing to a nonexistant place, slowly submerged into nothingness.

His thoughts were a blurr and only one thing was abundandtly clear. He longed. Longed with every fibre of his be, to be someplace else, someplace where things were homely and the world was fresh. Not here, not in this place, not facing a lovely little house that probably sheltered yet another monster.

And so he felt pity for the house, because the house was a symbol of the boy he used to be. But to voice it, this would require a poet of great sensivity and he was none.

From an outsider's perspective, were one to observe the situation, the boy, who stood on the doorstep was horribly out of place, because he looked petrified. His shoulders were hunched, his palms were pushed deep into the pockets of a slightly too large coat, his head was bent and if one were to approach him, his paleness would be almost alarming.

But there was no one to watch the situation and so Harry Potter braced himself for whatever was to come, and knocked. The cheerful yellow door opened almost instantly.

'Come in.' a voice spoke and there was something unsettlingly familiar about it.

Mister Granger, dressed in a brown jacket with leather patches on the elbows, was sitting on a large armchair by a roaring fireplace. Harry, still numb with shock, sat himself, quite gingerly, at the edge of a nearby chair. Apart from the crackling and howling of fire, the room was silent, so all he could do, was observe.

The sitting room was spacious, despite the house's size. There were paintings on the wall, some men of previous decades, many of them young, with a restless gleam in their eyes and a predatory smirk on their lips, the rest middle aged and slightly grumpy. Their eyes bore into Harry now, still as they were, they seemed to follow him nonetheless.

There was also a desk by the window, a display cabinet with ornamented glass doors by it, then a bookshelf, and on the opposite side was the fire place, the airmchair and Harry's chair. A grandfather clock stood in the corner, broken and unmoving.

Finally Harry cleared his throat. The silence had become too much. Mister Granger was still staring into the fire, his face much like Hermione's, yet sharper. Finally, after whate felt like hours, he turned his face and looked at Harry. Unlike Hermione's, his eyes were like molten gold.

'I am glad' the man finally spoke out, his voice almost hoarse 'you came.'

'I had no choice.' the petulance crept into his voice, so he caught himself and stiffed, but Mister Granger looked unbothered.

'You did not, did you?' he nodded slowly and looked away from him and into the fire 'You did not.' he repeated.

'Listen, Harry' the man regained composure or simply braced himself against whatever was to come next 'It's bad and it's mostly my fault, but it's not too late. We can still save whatever we can. But I need my daughter. The one who created the paradox.'

'Excuse me? Harry stood up and walked towards him, very ill at ease 'Sir?'

'Listen' the man turned to look at him, his face gaunt, but stern 'Curiosity does indeed kill the cat' his lips twiched in a humourless smile 'But it's all spilt milk under the bridge.' the man smiled once again 'Hermione. The older one. The one that isn't supposed to be here, but still might be our only shot at righting my wrongs.'

'How so?' he knelt beside the man, facing the fire, knowing that something was coming.

'I started this mess.' the man admitted calmly 'I started this mess because I was curious. I can't end it, but she can. How ironic. A paradox can save us all.'

They were motionless and silent for a long while. Harry felt himself bursting with questions, but knew better than to push. And besides, he had no words to convey anything. Instead, he run his palm against his forehead and realized how sweaty it truly was.

Finally he could not take this anymore. The man was weird and the silence weighted like a stone.

'Sir.' Harry felt himself gring his teeth. The word felt wrong. 'Sir, what is it that you want of me?'

'Harry Potter.' the man turned once again to look at him and suddenly he stood up 'First' he said briskly, and stretched till his joints cracked 'I want you to call your friend, the man who looks like a gangster.'

'Why?'

'Because we need him to pick up that lady from the hospital.' Hermione's father smiled thinly 'Before my much esteemed colleauges pick up her trail.' the man folded his hands neatly on his knees.

'It's not a trap, boy. It's more like a reckoning.'

'Sir?' he knew he was gawking, but a dentist should never sound so ominous. Especially when the said dentist was his best friend's father and also some undercover whatnot.

'But not now. Let's wait till nightfall. I must talk first.'

'Talk?'

Talk of talking in riddles. Here I come and here he is, and all of sudden the man just spits out random bits and pieces of some mildly nonsensical information.

'Yes, to your friend's new found employer.'

This definitely made no sense.

So much for down to Earth and understandable, Harry thought angrily. Things made no sense these days, but right now, all logic had apparently decided to hang itself.

Mister Granger departed the room, leaving Harry befuddled and worried. If this was a trap, it was either shabby and deranged, or brilliant and encompassing. Riddling this, however, fell way out of his league.

Even Ron, the self-proclaimed chessmaster, would be at loss here. Would Hermione be too?

Goodness, she grew up with this man. And we thought she's just a weirdo. Imagine Sunday dinner with that guy. How did it go? 'Oh honey, you had no choice, did you? Or did you?' Goodness.

He sat motionless and waited. Despite the fact that the entire universe was spinning and changing rapidly, his reality consisted these days of waiting, which he found so discomfiting, it was almost painful. Some moments he felt like they were doomed, puppets on strings, unable to escape or avert their utter and complete defeat. He had hope though. Feeble as it was, it lingered despite all the darkness.

And this reminded him so fiercely of Dumbledore and his perpetual hope. For if a man, so world-weary and almost frail in his old age, still had been able to find joy in the smallest of things and seek a silver lining to a darkest cloud, how dare he, a boy, despair?

The resolution to remain hopeful tasted like copper on his tongue.

And then Mister Granger returned to the living room. He looked straight at him and smiled thinly.

'Let me explain' said the man 'maybe I won't be able to explain it all - but I sure can explain the details.'

Harry nodded and waited, once again eager and - if truth was to be told - excited.

'My daughter - or rather the older version of her - has been captured and turned over to... a certain organization.' the man remained in the door frame, his face half-concealed by shadows 'An organization' he added hastily 'over which I figuratively have control.'

'What do you mean?'

'My control is absolute if and only if I lead it like it wants to be led.' the man smiled bitterly 'This is the finest example of entrapment by authority you might ever come across. I am compelled to act in a certain manner, for if I fail to, I shall lose the power I have.'

'So you're telling me' Harry felt himself grimace 'you're doing bad things - or at least things you don't want to - because you want to be in power?' he snorted 'well forgive me, doesn't it classify as cowardice?'

'You would be right' the man answered plainly, apparently having taken no insult in his words 'if only I didn't need this power. And I need to. To stop my subjects' he smiled at the word, contempt plain on his features 'from doing any serious damage.'

'I dont't understand.'

'Well. Hermione's been snatched. On my orders. They want to burn her on the stake. So I had my first lieutenant find a man for the job. I'd hoped - and my gamble has paid off - it would be someone from your team.'

'How did you know?'

'A scientific guess. A hazardous one, I admit' the man shrugged 'But it paid off.'

'So who's the man?' understanding flooded him the instant he spoke out loud 'Wait... Dolohov?'

'Indeed.' the man nodded calmly 'My first leutenant introduced him as the right man. We had a little talk. Mister Dolohov removed a certain madame Black from her confine, the he will rescue your blond friend from the hospital... and finally, he will fail at this job.'

'Job?'

'The job in question being my daughter's execution.' he smiled 'And my daughter, I shall hope, will take her anger out.'

'As in: kill them all?'

'That is correct. Now' the man lifted his finger 'there is also yet another person that comes into play. An American spy, so to say, who, I believe might be inconsequential if my further predictions come true, yet who is better left...removed.'

'So' Harry drew a deep breath, his world spinning once again 'you want us to kill -' he cleared his throat 'What happens once the organization is destroyed? You are the only one left?'

'My dear boy' the man shook his head 'this' he gestured around 'is just the tip of the iceberg. There is nothing to be done.'

'So why take any action?' despair floored him. 'Don't tell me' he laughed bitterly and shook his head

The fool. The fool. Thefool thefool thefool thefool thefool thefool thefool thefool thefool thefool. STOP.

 

'Don't tell me it's because it's a noble thing to do?'

'Don't absurd.' the man scolded him sharply 'Think. What do you do when you can't solve a problem?'

'Try?' he snarled right back at him, his temper rising like a tidal wave.

'Try harder. And no. This is not the answer.'

'I don't know!' he almost whined at the man. 'How am I supposed to-'

'Don't wallow in self pity, Harry.' the man cut in 'You go back to the beginning.'

'What -?'

Wait. What?

He went numb and froze and nothing made sense and his stomach felt too tight, as though an invisible fist was clenching him

'You want to -?'

'Yes.'


	41. Thou Shalt Not Suffer A Witch

Down and down they dragged her, until she was in a place dark and cold. Only then they let go off her and she dropped to her knees. Someone pulled the bag off her head and she inhaled, as deeply as she only could. The air was damp and cool.

She was underground.

They laughed at her and then walked out. She was alone in impenetrable darkness.

There would no witness to her grief. Or her pain. She allowed herself to succumb to it. She held her knees close to her chest and rested her chin atop them. She closed her eyes and tried thinking of Mum and home and all things warm, safe and predictable.

When one is safe, one usually is bored and longs for the Adventure. But then, when the Adventure takes hold, all one longs for is the safety of home. A never ending procession of longing, each insatiable as the other.

But her thoughts strayed away from home. She had none, now. Instead her mind drifted to a familiar triangular face, heavy-lidded eyes and crazed raven locks. She closed her eyes and thought of Bellatrix and these thoughts brought her comfort.

How things have turned! Enemies for most of her life - something completely different the last few, what was it, weeks? months? Time no longer made sense. She was tired. She would have had accepted death like an old friend, were it not for a tiny voice that spoke in the back of her head.

Your job is not done.

She hated the voice.

She argued time and again, let me die. There is nothing out there. There is no salvation.

It was adamant and if truly it was just a projection of herself, she hated this part of her own self.

The cellar was wet. She felt first her fingers go numb, then her palms and her feet and soon she was freezing. She could hear her breath rattle. She swallowed. Her throat was dry and slightly sore.

She pushed her hair out of her face and decided staying put would be the best option for now. She closed her eyes and listened, but the cellar was quiet. Not even the sound of dripping water, only her breathing.

Her thoughts, as though tied to a bumerang, returned to a certain black-haired woman. Timid, as it was, their recent cuddling session was something she had thought she would never be granted again.

The Muggles tied her to a pole. Rope cut sharply into her wrists. She refused to look at the mob, dancing and yelling, gathered all around, and instead chose to look up, at the sky. It was overcast and immensely dark. First drops of rain began falling down, one splashed on her nose, another fell into here eye and she blinked.

She would die, she realized. What shocked her, was her own indifference towards her own demise.

I have always known. Even as a little child. I've always known.

She remembered, vividly now, her childhood and a peculiar sensation that followed her wherever she would go: that she had less time than anybody else. Be it sunny Italian coast, or the often-overcast Pyrenees, or the gleaming slopes of early spring Alps, when the snow would be blue and the sun pitiless, the sensation of death was never far away. She had learned to accept it a long time ago. She would die. Die young. And, after all, it was okay.

No man is free from death. All must die, be it young reckless fools or old men, clinging to life with sickly desparation. The thing, or maybe the Thing, was not in dying itself, but rather in art of one's death. Ars bene moriendi, it was called. The art of dying.

And so, now, tied to a pole, surrounded my men maddened with hatred, she knew she had to muster all dignity she had. She would die, yes. But not screaming or pleading or cursing. She would die like a human. Upright.

And then she saw, amongst all the mad Muggles, Dolohov. He was in the middle of some conversation with a bloke with Hitlerjugend haircut and bad acne, when their eyes met. His face, oddly gaunt in the sharp lights of flashlights, remained impassive, yet instantly she picked on some smidget of tension.

Whether he betrayed them or was still loyal, she looked away, not wanting to draw any unecessary attention to their interaction. A blonde with pretty blue eyes and petulant grimace on her lips walked up to her. Hermione narrowed her eyes, momentarily blinding with flashlight.

'Hermione?' the woman was checking the knots on the rope thus her voice came very low and faint. 'You Hermione Granger.'

'Yeah.' she acknowledged, lips twitching just a tiny bit.

Honestly what the heck? Like some pop-culture phenomenon.

'Your dad's getting you out.' the woman stood back and cocked her head 'Ready to die, you fucking piece of shit?' she spoke louder, her accent now evident and hilarious.

She drawled. And it was a perfect, film-like drawl of American Deep Dark South.

'Fuck yourself, Yankee.' she retorted sharply, almost involuntarily raising an eyebrow 'Preferrably with something sharp.'

'Eat shit.' the woman snarled, lunged and Hermione found herself suddenly becoming limp, almost lifeless. The punch fell true and nearly discolated her jaw. 'Provoke me.' was added in underbreath.

'Fuck you.' Hermione snarled, spitting blood and saliva. The woman must have had cracked her lip. She could feel the warm drip of blood. She licked her lips and smiled, knowing pretty well her teeth would be tainted and reddish and absolutely disgusting.

'Bitch' the woman was on her, nose inches away from Hermione's 'I will teach you pain before you're fucking fried. And then' she growled and grinned, a combination truly discomfiting 'then I'll fucking fry that mad bitch of yours.'

It wasn't an act, honest. Her leg sort of jerked by itself and suddenly the woman fell back, clutchin her abdomen.

'You fuck'er up well, honey!'someone yelled, a deep, masculine voice that sounded almost quaverish, as though its owner was barely handling his own excitement. 'Show'er what we do to perverts like 'er.'

Perverts? Of all the things...

The nameless blonde shot her a tiniest smile and then grimaced as though she had just eaten a spoonfull of pure, undiluted hatred. Hermione braced herself for what was to come, but never prepared for a full body slam. A hand grabbed her throat, a fist smashed into her already broken lip and then, suddenly, the fist became a palm that pressed tightly into her own hand.

She felt it. A knife. The woman slipped it into her hand and then

then licked Hermione's face.

What the -?!

Lips bloody and face rather disturbing, the blonde American turned towards the crowd.

'In the name of purity - we shall burn that monstrosity!' she exclaimed and Hermione saw, over the woman's shoulder, the crowd and realized it consisted mostly of boys, most of whom was now rather aroused.

'Repeat after me!' the woman lifted her hand in a mock-Nazi salute 'Though! Shalt! Not! Suffer! A witch!

The crowd repeated and the woman carried on 'We shall carry out this act. It might hurt us, it might not be easy on us, but think of the goal ahead. Think of lives you shall be saving, think of natural order you will restore. This' she waved at Hermione behind her 'will not be tolerated. Purity will be restored. I say: the task will be tremendous. You might be tempted - and it's a human weakness - to believe sure, all the perverts are evil, but this one is not, I assure you. I urge you all to purge yourselves of such thoughts.

You will carry out a task so tremendous, it has never been attempted before. You will carry out a task harrowing, demanding self-sacrifice and heroism, but I believe you will endure and purge our race, the human race, of its infestation.'

The speech ended abruptly and there was tremendous applause and Hermione was forcibly reminded of one madman's quest, a long time ago. Apparently, madness, cloaked as ideology, was still attractive.

And right were the Christian churches, she thought absurdly, that evil surely can be very attractive. Otherwise it would not simply be.

While the woman spoke, she worked on the cords. Now her hand were free. She remained at the pole, this mockery of a stake, probably stolen from some stripper club, uncertain as to how to proceed.

'Ready to burn?' the woman turned to her once again, smile cold and triumphant. 'Before you die' she added, her tone once again rising 'let me bid you faraway.'

Hermione braced herself for yet another strike. What came, however, was a wand thrust into her hand, then followed by a blow. 'Burn'em.' the woman breathed into her ear and walked away.

Two Muggle boys, one lanky and resembling Ronald Weasley in his clumsiness, the other burly, with a shock of golden locks and hazelnut eyes, came forth bearing torches. The lanky boy was sweating profously, angel-face however looked steadfast and strong.

Dolohov pushed forward and his eyes met Hermione's. The boys were waiting for an order and she for her cue.

'Now.' he roared.

The threw their torches, and she whipped the wand.

'Fiendfyre!' she found her voice and fire, pure, furious fire exploded from the tip of the wand and fell onto the crowd. The heat was instant and immense, followed soon by terrible cries.

And then she heard it and felt it. Magic. Someone has came to her rescue.

She was free. She kicked a Muggle away and saw someone run towards her, leaving all their allies behind.

'Wait up!' someone yelled, their voice very familiar, but the runner paid them no heed.

She recognized the runner immediately. Jumping over a pile of logs, she sped up and met the person halfway. Some Muggle threw a knife at her, she evaded the blind and cast a hasty Stunning Spell. She leapt over the Muggle, cursed another one, who emerged behind the runner and -

The brunetted rammed against her and Hermione found herself laughing despite all her air had just been knocked out of her lungs. She grabbed the woman's face, thrust her palm into her tresses and pulled her forward and in and she kissed her hard.

Her free hand moved from Bellatrix' cheek to the nape of her neck. Closer and closer she pulled until they were pressed tightly against each other.

Dolohov was now, she saw over Bellatrix' shoulder, getting rid of all the remaining Muggles. The blonde American was with him, a gun with a muffler in her hand, she was conducting executions of remaining survivors.

The horror, a thought flashed in her mind, swiftly exorcised by Bellatrix' presence.

Weird thing was, Bellatrix was kissing back and as fervently, as she was. The brunette's arm encircled her waist, the other clasped her shoulder it almost hurt.

'Stupid Mudblood' they broke the kiss off, foreheads resting against each other, tips of noses still touching, their breath mingled, both gasping as though they had just ran a marathon and Hermione saw the other woman laughing. She blinked and squinted her eyes, so that Bellatrix wouldn't know what she had just witnessed.

'Me? Silly?' she breathed right back at her and smiled herself.

Their lips touched once again, ready to kiss, but they were grinning, both of them, so the kiss turned into some fumbling around. She could see Bellatrix didn't mind.

'Yes. You. Silly.' the woman growled at her and failed.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

'So says the woman' she was now peppering Bellatrix' lips with little kisses 'who charged an entire mob. Alone.'

The They're just Muggles rerort that came sounded surprisingly like Shut up.

Hermione knew better, so indeed she shut up.

Bellatrix linked her hands, arguing that she, Hermione, is still probably weakened by the ordeal and so it would be benefit them both if she did not end up keeling over because of her pigheadedness.

Because of course.

'I'll take you to the rally point.' Bellatrix ordered and dragged her along.

Willingly she went, the brunette's hand steadying her.

'My knight in shining armour.' she shot the woman a smile 'How may I repay you for this kindness you have shown me?'

It was meant to be a jibe, but she saw Bellatrix blush. Heavily.

Interesting, she thought.

But she was tired. So tired that actually the woman's hand was a great help.

'So, what is the agenda now?' she asked after a few moments.

'When you were playing damsel in distress' the woman didn't miss a beat. 'Your father came out.'

She could feel Bellatrix' eyes glueing to her face, but she forced herself to look straight and callous. She already knew that bit of information but it made no sense. The crowd was now destroyed. Utterly decimated, like the sick dream it tried to rejuvenate.

'Yeah?'

They were now walking up a winding street, towards something dark atop the hill, probably a park. The wind was icy. She could almost feel the snowflakes drifting in the air.

'Yes, Muddy' the woman spoke now with great urgency 'I wanted to crucio him to tomorrow -but' they halted and Bellatrix forced her turn around and face her. Oddly enough, there were no streetlights. She felt mortified she noticed it just now, just like the know-it-all, who had to excel at every single subject and understand each and every situation.

'He says' Bellatrix carried on, the tone of her voice soft 'there is a way to fix this.'

'How should we trust him?' the question felt wrong.

No one should ever ask that of one's parent. Never.

'I think' the woman answered her after a prolonged moment of silence 'he is desperate. And Muddy, I know all of desperation.'

She had no words, so she just nodded. Instead she gripped Bellatrix' hand harder and they walked towards the hilltop when suddenly there were people running down towards her.

'Hermione' a body knocked into her, breaking Bellatrix' grip on her hand, pushing her back.

Dolohov.

'I'm sorry -'he broke off.

'I'm not.' she shook her head and patted his forearm 'Thank you.'

'I never -' he was apparently tense and she knew what he was trying to say, but there was no need, because she already knew, she had always known. 'I'm so -' he tried again '-There was a scuffle, Bellatrix broke through, but we- Harry and I- he's right there, running too - and Narcissa and -'

'I know' she said instead of finding some fancier words to convey that she knew and understood and never stopped believing.

'I'd never -' he shook his head vehemently '-you -' he swallowed harshly and spat out breathlessly 'I consider you my closest friend, I would never betray you, I'd rathe die.'

'And I you' she was touched very much now, but needed to stay focused 'I know.' The lip was hurting badly and the American might have had cracked ribs judging by the sharp pain she was feeling on her left side, but otherwise she was fine. Better than fine.

'-you hurt? Need? -' Dolohov still hasn't relaxed.

She had never heard him babble like that.

'I am fine.' she said and patted his forearm once again 'Untouched. You can -yeah' she nodded as he let go off her, suddenly his posturing slumping from buzzing with anxiety to awkward.

'Yeah.' he nodded and allowed her to side step him. 'Yeah.'

'Bloody hell' said Harry from the darkness, a strange imitation of Ron creeping into his voice.

'Language.' this unimistakingly was Narcissa.

She walked towards the source of the voice and they met halfway, in a fierce hug.

Oh. That's how having a girlfriend - a friend who is a girl - feels like.

'I am so glad' the woman breathed into her ear and Hermione suddenly felt goosebumps all over her back and it was nice and weird at the same time 'Am I hurting you?' Narcissa pulled back and looked at her with worry 'You flinched.'

'No.' she shook her head slowly, but then came Harry and he said Lumos and she heard them inhale sharply.

'Your face, Hermione!' Harry exclaimed and Draco appeared behind his back and she was now utterly confused, because where did they come from? And there also were Bill and Fleur Weasleys coming and Snape and Rowle and Scabior and Marigold, of all the people,she too has arrived and nothing made any sense anymore.

Narcissa's hands were on her cheeks, examining her face, but then Bellatrix moved her sister's hand away. Bellatrix' hands were now cupping her cheeks, the all-familiar black eyes suddenly gentle and knee-bending warm.

Strange. Never have I ever touched you like this.

Like it's all coming to a closure.

'I'm fine, Bella.' she rasped 'Tell me what's -?

She broke off and chocked a little. Yes, broken ribs it was, she thought numbly as she started coughing her lungs out. There was blood in her salive, saturated and almost pink. Yup, definitely.

'We'll explain.' she heard Narcissa's voice somewhere over her head.

'But not here and not now.' Bellatrix chimed in and then her arms were around her waist.

A voice breathed into her. 'Come on, love.'

This indeed was a night of revelations.


	42. And Let Such Love Strike You Numb Dumb Blind – Love That Came Too Late

'So?' she sat down on a sofa facing a wall. It felt oddly homely, this little house that apparently belonged to her father. 'How did all of this' she pointed at the people surrounding her 'happen?'

For they all were there. Harry and Draco, reconciled and probably friends now, Narcissa and Dolohov, probably in love, Bill and Fleur, both beaming at her, Scabior and Rowle, both slightly battered, and Marigold, who looked smug – and there was Bellatrix, hovering beside her.

And, of course, there was her, the teenage version of herself, hair still bushy and a very smug smirk on her face.

And they were all in a small, dark house.

Nothing made sense. She was completely confused. Her ribs hurt like her, and the entire room was floating. Bellatrix took a wand to her side. She was muttering healing spells and Hermione shuddered. At least they had some sort of a damage control going on. At least this.

Maybe she was sick. Maybe she was exhausted and wanted nothing, but a closure. She felt tired.

But, for the first time in many years, happy.

'Long story, Hermione' Harry beamed at her.

'It won't make much sense' Draco piped in, looking smug, as though he won a ticket at the national lottery 'even to you' he grinned. Her younger version shot him a dark look. He chuckled and Hermione suddenly shivered.

She shook her head 'Test me.'

'So' Draco smiled once again, casting a swift glance at Younger Hermione (it still felt so sick to her other version by her own name) 'when you all left – it was just the two of us. And we knew nothing. We knew absolutely nothing.'

'Dad called.' Her younger self cut in, her expression turning sour 'Just like this, out of the blue, he called. He said he knows.' She shook her head vehemently 'He said this mess can be fixed. He said he would fix this. But he needed you.'

'What?' this made no sense, no sense at all. All this fighting and hiding and bloodshed – all for naught now all that were ever needed were a phone call from her father? Her father, their father, who had started all of this mess, had keys to end it all?

'I know.' Her younger head shook her head 'I know.' She walked towards her and crouched on the carpet, hand reaching forward. Hermione watched the other's palm inch towards her own, resting on her knee. Their fingers touched, slowly and tentatively, and her skin suddenly tingled. How odd it was, she thought numbly, to literally touch oneself.

'He called, just like this.' The girl was still crouching on the floor 'Draco and I' she turned to looked at the blond boy 'Draco and I' she repeated 'we had our doubts.'

Young Malfoy smirked. 'We had a bloody row.'

'Yeah' her younger self shot him a small smile 'we screamed at one another. A little.'

Draco sighed theatrically.

What was going on? Were they… flirting? Merlin's ass!

'Anyway' her younger version continued levelly 'we finally came to an understanding. Sort of.' She shrugged 'Then she picked us up.' She nodded towards Marigold who was standing near a large cabinet, looking as bored as possible 'We let Fleur and Bill – and the rest – know what was up.'

'We have a telephone now.' Bill added. 'She called us. We tailed them. Then we met with the rest of your…friends.'

Scabior nodded. Rowle was sitting crossed legged on the ground, back resting against the wall.

'We never met dad – yet' Hermione carried on 'but his American friend – she's not here yet, you know – picked us up and dropped us here. You recall her?'

'I do' Dolohov added 'she's his secret contact?'

'Something of this type, I think.' her younger version nodded.

'So' Hermione's mind was still reeling. She felt suddenly very sick. The puzzles were coming together now – however what was still missing, was the crux itself. There was no solution – yet.

Or was there? Suddenly she looked at Harry, her once upon a time in a life that never happened love, and he was looking back at her, terrible sadness marring his boyish features.

Maybe there was a solution. And she would do anything to save the ones she loved.

'So what do you think?' Draco piped in suddenly 'What's going to happen now?'

'I think' she exhaled slowly 'I might have to talk to dad.'

'Speaking of which – where is he?' the woman on her right, her hair a glorious black wave and her eyes hazelnut and full of something neither would name, moved sharply. Hermione looked at Bellatrix. The other woman shivered suddenly.

'Muddy, this is by no means personal, but I don't like your family.'

'Understood' she fought and lost the urge to reach out and touch her. Gently, as though not to startle an anxious creature, she reached out and touched the inner side of the woman's wrist. 'You're most welcome to dislike my family.' She could not help it but smile.

Like an idiot in – no... Such words belonged to a different time.

Bellatrix scoffed, but there was no malice, only a hint of an amused eye-roll.

Look at how far we've come, she wanted to say. Instead she looked away and at Marigold.

'Where is my father?'

'Good thing you decided to finally ask.' The other woman replied immediately, boredom colouring her words. 'I'd rather put a bullet through my head –'

'Well that can be arranged.' Bellatrix cut in, her ire waking up once again. 'I'd very much like to know –'

'That will do for now, Bella.' Narcissa spoke out for the first time in a long time 'Time for interrogations will come' she glared at Marigold and then looked back at her sister 'but it will come later.'

'Oh, Cissy, Cissy' Bellatrix shook her head vehemently 'This woman has been betraying us repeatedly.'

'And she will answer for it, when the time is right.' Her sister smoothly interjected.

The Black sisters were at it, again it seemed. Hermione smiled fondly. She stood up from the sofa, Bellatrix immediately rising to meet her, as though she was expecting her to crumble any time soon. She turned and touched her elbow.

'Later' she breathed at the other woman 'I swear to you –'

'Let's go!' Marigold almost stamped her foot. Hermione sighed.

'Very well. Lead on?'

They climbed a flight of stairs and came to a halt in front of a door. Marigold knocked and the answer came immediately.

Come in, said the voice from the other side.

She knew it, the voice. It was the voice to which she would fall asleep as a little girl. A voice which told her stories of Odysseus and his dog, Argos dying when having finally reconciled with his beloved master, of Barry Marshall infecting himself with bacteria to prove stomach ulcers were caused by them, of Robert Scott's and Roald Amundsen's race to the South Pole, of the battle for the North Face of Eiger and Toni Kurz's final words – a voice she had always known and always loved.

It was her father's voice. She swallowed harshly, emotions pooling and coiling – and she pushed the door and walked into the study.

Yes, it was he. When he saw her, he gasped. And then he smiled, his eyes twinkling. He looked young. As young as when she had used the Memory Charm on him in another life.

'My daughter' his voice broke and she saw him take her in. She watched him watch her, and saw his eyes brimming with unshed tears.

Her father was weeping for her.

'My brave, brave child.' He wiped his eyes roughly 'I am so sorry for what's happened.'

She wanted to tell him off. She wanted to call him a traitor and ask how could he have done any of it, but she couldn't.

Suddenly she found herself walking towards him, breaking down for the first time in many years.

'Daddy' that was all she managed to say before she was in his arm, crying like a little child.

'This was never meant to happen' he said, stroking her hair 'this was not what I had in mind. I am sorry.'

'Is it too late?' she spoke to his shoulder, inhaling the all-familiar scent of his sweater. She knew him, it was her father – not the glorious traitor, the secret engineer of her people's flight, but a man she loved and knew.

'No.' he answered softly. 'But there is some work you must do. Your one last job.'

And then they spoke.

Hermione returned after what had felt like too long a period. Bellatrix was anxious. Not that she would ever acknowledge this – puppy love was not what she would ever indulge in, thank you very much – but she was restless enough to want to walk upstairs and see what was happening to her dumb Muddy.

Yes, her dumb Muddy. Mind you, she would not admit it to anyone, even on torture, but she was fond enough of the infuriating redhead to call her hers.

The moment she walked down the stair, eyes alight with something that instantly triggered the something-is-wrong alarm in Bellatrix' mind, followed closely by a handsome Muggle with red-rimmed eyes, she walked towards the young version of herself, ignoring anyone and everyone else.

Bellatrix wanted to follow them as they walked back upstairs, this time just the two of them, but she knew better. Instead she settled for something less pathetic and decided to glare the hell out of Hermione's father.

The Muggle was unfazed. It irked her. Narcissa sighed. Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

'Everyone' the Muggle suddenly spoke out 'please join me for dinner.'

Bellatrix knew she wasn't alone in her incredulity. The rest of the room went instantly deadly quiet. The Muggle was persistently unfazed, though. He nodded towards another room. 'Everyone, please follow through.'

Without a word, like an obedient flock, they followed into the dining room. The table was set enough to fit more than fifteen people.

'We have no magic' the Muggle spoke out with an askew smile, which undeniably was charming just enough to have Bellatrix consider sparing him in the end 'so we'll have to rely on each other to bring the food from the kitchen.' He nodded towards another set of doors.

Without a word, Harry Potter, Draco and Narcissa Malfoy followed him like the silly puppies they could sometimes be. Bellatrix sneered in sheer contempt, but she was alone in this – soon Fleur and the oldest, was it, Weasley followed, then Dolohov and Marigold and suddenly she found herself alone with Scabior and Rowle and their foolish faces, so despite her better judgement, she trailed on behind the rest of them.

The indignities, she thought in annoyance. The truth however was that she was worried, very much so, about what was taking place upstairs. Yet she knew better than to pry. Her Muddy was a private creature. And Bellatrix was fond of her just enough not to invade her privacy too much.

They carried dishes and then sat down to the table and then the two girls returned. Hermione's face was oddly pale and Bellatrix fought against an urge to rise up, grab her by the shoulders and ask her what was wrong. The younger girl was also pale. Nothing was right.

They sat down to dinner in total silence. Hermione's father poured them wine. Bellatrix lifted the glass to her nose; oddly enough Muddle drinks did not smell overly foul. They were quite decent in fact, she had to agree the moment she tasted it. Were she not worried, she might have even considered savouring it.

Hermione and her father were seated at the opposite sides of table. Bellatrix was on her right, followed by her sister, Dolohov, Fleur, Bill and Rowle; on the other side there was younger Hermione, Draco, Harry, Marigold and Scabior. She was forcibly reminded of sitting at the Dark Lord's table, Death Eaters at her sides.

It felt as though it had been a most realistic dream. Reality of what was happening now was still more vivid and surreal than anything else.

Muggles, Mudbloods, Purebloods, whatnot, were sitting by a single table in a world which was at warm with itself.

And the food was good and Bellatrix was in –

No.

The dinner was quiet. She kept stealing glances at Hermione.

Her hair was dark and red like the wine and her face looked porcelain, almost translucent in this light, her eyelashes long and curly, her nose slightly upturned and her lips full, her wrists slim and nimble and the way she held the fork and the glass and everything about her was mesmerizing, beautiful, unreal.

She was magnificent, glorious like an extremely rare magical creature. And she was hers, the proud beast within Bellatrix prowled and growled and she found herself smiling under her nose. Yes, she was fond of this woman. Quite much, if truth were to be told.

'I need a cigarette.' Hermione stood up and, without looking at anyone – or anything, to be honest – walked out of the living room. After dinner they had returned there and she needed to see the night sky.

She knew she was being followed. When she sat down on the doorstep, she felt Bellatrix' presence. The woman sat beside her.

The wind has died down and the sky was clear. She looked up and the first thing she saw was Ursa Major, the Great Bear.

'You know, when I was a kid, I wanted be an astronaut' she smiled as she light her cigarette. The first hit of nicotine made her head swim 'You know, Muggles have actually been to the Moon.' she felt Bellatrix move beside her. 'I wanted to be the first woman on the Moon.' She continued 'Then I wanted to be a doctor. But then, then I went to Hogwarts.'

'Do you regret it?' the question came immediately and in a small voice.

She turned to look at the woman beside her and smile 'No.' she looked at her, drank her presence, committed every line of her face to her memory 'Not at all. You know' she grinned 'if I hadn't gone to Hogwarts, I wouldn't have met you.'

It was the simple truth and she saw Bellatrix shudder. She waited patiently for a barbed remarked, but nothing came. The other woman was looking at her questioningly, but there was a terrible softness on her face.

'I don't regret a single thing.' She repeated and suddenly, as though on its own, her hand shot up and gently touched the other's cheek 'Bellatrix, I –' words failed her.

And Bellatrix smirked. 'Big words, eh?'

'You would know, would you?' she allowed her hand to drop. 'The world has gone to shit, hasn't it?'

'Can you imagine us' Bellatrix shrugged 'living a normal life?'

'No.' she shook her head 'we're always in the middle of some tremendous confrontation. Do you remember the first time we met?'

Bellatrix laughed 'I gave you quite a beating, didn't I, Muddy?'

'I fought back.' She smacked the woman's thigh.

'You did. You did quite well, in fact.'

'And now we're here.' Her hand rose once again and she watched her own fingers trail through Bellatrix' hair. 'I am really glad I have met you, Bellatrix Black.'

'Don't sound as though you're saying goodbye' she could feel Bellatrix alarm 'What's gotten into you, Muddy? Feeling sentimental, are we?'

'Maybe.' She grinned coyly and then leaned in.

Bellatrix kissed her instantly.

It was a slow, messy kiss. Hermione's fingers dug into the other woman's scalp, and Bellatrix palm came to rest on her waist.

Then they pulled back. Hermione sighed and allowed her forehead to rest against the other's.

For the last cigarette, it was quite perfect.

'Now that we're all here' he father began when they came back from the cigarette 'we probably should discuss our next steps.'

She inhaled deeply and walked to him. Side by side, they faced the room. She saw Bellatrix looking worried, Narcissa was tense – and Harry, bless his souls, was sad. With a shudder she realized he knew. Her best friend, her closest ally, the boy who truly was a wonder, knew. And he was sad for her.

'I had discovered Magic with Hermione' Her father began 'and I don't mean paternal magic, the magic of having your first child' he added with a hint of a smile 'but your magic. She was magic. I knew it the moment a bottle levitated in the nursery.' He cleared his throat 'I dug deep and I made friends and what was a passion, turned into an obsession – and my obsession led to a disasters.'

'Throughout history there always were secret societies invested in all that was paranormal. From shamans through priests and priestesses of the old days, through medieval alchemists and Masons, there were always those, who sought out the unnatural and tried to bend it to their will. My fallacy was that I trusted them. I trusted in them – I had hoped they would use this knowledge to do good things. I am a scientist and thus I am susceptible to probably the most ironic mistake: blind faith.'

'What I failed to realize was that secret societies constitute of men who have power. Corporations and government sometimes have mutual interests. Some care about power, some want to save their people – I will not be the judge of this. Awareness led to trials and trials led to greed. I remained the leader, but I was trapped, always trapped by my positions.'

'Things Hermione had told had come to pass didn't – because she altered the timeline. Marigold learned of her and of her story – and passed it on to me. We can't stop this. The situation has escalated beyond any contingency plan I could ever come up with. There is a solution.'

'The war' she spoke out, praying with all her might her voice would remain clear and strong 'started with me.'

'And it must end with me.' She added moments later, forcing herself to look Harry straight in the eyes.

She could feel distress radiating off Bellatrix.

'If I had never been born, this would not have happened.' She added. 'That means I have to go back in –'

'NO!' she was cut off by a scream so terrible she flinched.

She looked at her and saw her cry. I love you, she wanted to mouth to her, but her face had suddenly become stiff. Please don't cry. It's for the best. Bella. I love you.

'You can't leave me!' Bellatrix found her voice and Hermione realized she indeed was loved. In no other occasion would this woman show her weakness to anyone.

'I must go back in time and –' she tried carrying on, but lost her voice.

'She must kill me.' Her father finished. He pulled Professor McGonagall's Time Turner out his pocket and handed it to her. She accepted, still numb, still unable to look away from Bellatrix.

'I will finish him off first' she said to Bellatrix and even though they were in public, she was speaking to her and only to her 'so that you will have never lived through this. Harry' she looked at the boy and smiled and he also was crying – and quite possibly her eyes were watering as well – 'you will have your parents.'

'Hermione.' She turned back to her and suddenly she found herself walking to Bellatrix.

It was just the two of them. No one else mattered.

'I love you, Bellatrix Black' she breathed against the other woman's lips 'I don't regret anything.'

'You won't exist.' The other woman's grasp on her waist was painful 'I don't want a world in which you're not – you don't – I can't lose you.'

'I love you with all my heart.' Hermione repeated 'There is no other way. I would do this a thousand times.' Maybe she was lying. Maybe saying this particular goodbye was the most painful ever.

Maybe she was afraid and maybe all that she wanted was her little, odd, very dysfunctional family of Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix, Muggle special agents, her younger self, her father, and the woman she loved so much it hurt, but none of this mattered.

Because if she wanted her little patchwork family, she needed to die for them.

She needed to die for each every one of them. And she was afraid – who would not be? – but she was willing.

'I promise' she spoke to them all, even though she was talking through Bellatrix hair which was partially obscuring her vision 'this isn't perfect, but it's for the best. This is no happy ending. But this is your happy beginning.'

'You can't leave me' Bellatrix repeated stubbornly, her grasp painful and her voice slightly furious 'not now, now when I –' she lost her ability to speak.

'I know.' Hermione said. "Let go, Bella.'

She needed to go now. Otherwise she would never leave. And she knew the others have already learned of her father's treachery and were in hot pursuit. Time was ticking away at great speed.

'Let go.' She found the other's lips and kissed her one last time and then pulled away.

Without a word her father handed her the gun.

She started setting the Time Turner.

Her vision blurred with tears, she looked at them all. This was the last time she was seeing them, and fuck this hurt. Draco and Harry were crying. Bill was holding Fleur tight against his chest. Scabior's mouth was agape, Rowle looked grim. Marigold, for the first time ever, was not looking bored. She could see respect shining in the woman's eyes.

She locked eyes with Narcissa, who simply nodded, an unspoken promise neither could hold, but hoped to and hoped for nonetheless, passing between them.

Life maybe could be better.

'Wait.' Bellatrix snarled and Hermione froze.

'I won't let you go' she started and Hermione's heart wrenched ' – not before – I won't be a coward, Hermione, I –' the woman's face twitched.

It was seconds now.

'I love you.' Bellatrix said and then Time Turner spun.

It was December 31 1926. A newborn baby had died in Wool's Orphanage in London, few hours after being born. There was no big fuss, whatsoever, the child was sickly and has probably suffered at heart failure.

Having killed the newborn, who one day would become Lord Voldemort, Hermione left the orphanage.

All of this would over soon. It was a mantra that had her going.

Live to serve, die for lover.

If there was a God, she hoped He would forgive her.

Feeling more than sick, she stepped forward in time. It was 1975, eleven forty five on Thursday evening, and a thunderstorm raged over the City.

A young man with dark red hair was opening the door of his car, when he noticed a young woman whose umbrella had just upturned. She was quite pretty, despite having bushy hair. He smiled and raised his hand to wave at her – surely he could give her a ride.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He spun wildly and saw another woman, quite beautiful, but also somehow wrong. She cocked her head and regarded him with something that resembled profound sorrow.

She looked as though she had cried recently.

'You're Bunny Boy, are you not?'

Only his closest friends knew and used this ridiculous nickname. He looked at her with shock.

She lifted a gun and pointed at him.

'You don't know how sorry I am, dad.' She said.

When the bullet ripped through his head, she disappeared.

Only a woman with a broken umbrella and bushy hair saw that.

None of them would know that.

-Fin


End file.
